My photo
Cape Cod, United States
__I see with young eyes, an old mirror. Here, I hope to offer... as I see.

Monday, March 30, 2015

Tanka, perhaps; there is an adjustment in the comments.

snow melt fills this brook
as it roams to the river
broken braches turn
old stones of a long lost bridge
these chapels of frothing foam

Monday, March 23, 2015

__Oh yes, the value of such family stories... as the family circle grows!
Such smiles!  _m.

truth grows
ear to voice to ear  to voice
another chair

Sunday, March 22, 2015

__Kathy is one of the greatest  smiles in my life, and today is her birthday! Happy wishes 'Dear Lady'_!  _m

this special time
to me, and for my wife;
each day, as we hold each other,
a joy.

Thursday, March 19, 2015

March 13, 2015
__Jack was the husband of Marguerite, the father of seven, the Grandfather and Great Grandfather of many. Jack was the father of my so dear wife Kathy; my Father-in-Law stepped into his peaceful reward as he begun his ninetieth year.
__We will see you again, Jack, and we thank you for your gifts of love and time that you've left with us all. _m

eighty nine steps
across this cloudless sky
a new star

Friday, March 13, 2015

__Fog, the offspring of moisture and temperature, wanders into its own clarity. ** "The child wanders onward," may have been a precurs0r to the March 19th post; it was but three hours before Jack's final breath... .   My tears.**

snow melt
the child wanders onward
evening fog

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

__That scene in your eye; it channels through your mind and streams out of your hand... to other mind's eyes. The river. 

look beyond
to speak with brush or pen
arts flow

Sunday, March 8, 2015

The normal process of nature, may now have begun.  A return to the norm_?  Smiles! _m

rivers fill
as we peer across this snow
crave the green

Sunday, March 1, 2015

This haiku 'segment' was posted on my blog in early March, 2009; now I post this as it was written during the previous March of 2008, a complete haibun. _m

__An instant’s power failure; I quickly lit a candle to light my way to the stove where the tea-kettle still whistled but had lost that whoopish howl of immediacy. Walking past the kitchen window, my candle’s flame found a sparkle point on the outer side of that glass. A drop of water lingered there, at the tip of winter’s last icicle. That drop framed the candle’s flame, and as it glittered it drew me into its kingdom. The drop spoke and explained that they, the drop and the flame had joined, and now shared the same terminal point, they were the targets of the same fate. The drop and the flame, the candle and the icicle, as contrary as they were... they were, but one. 

the last icicle
as one drop lingers
a candle's flame