Another... 33    Solstice / long day... their kigo; rewritten from old scribbles.

an evening sun
on this stone monument's peak
solstice candle

long day storm
by reading the fallen leaves
a new page
 

__Pompously, I suppose,  I once knew the differences between haiku and senryu, but now it seems there may be no differences;  ignorance then,  has become my acquired indifference.

wild turkeys
at this fern lined pond side
damp breezes

__Often, we  find  the  need  to  steer  a  different  course,  that  finds the calm.   _m

alee

memories tack

to winds of the present

this helm is tomorrow's compass 

life sails 

One Sonnet form, as some would argue against; I scribbled this "Found" and others... long ago.

>Found<

I stand apart, watching through your sorrow,
With tears at the loss of a love begone.
You wander that circle, as you are drawn,
To that lonely search for your tomorrow;
With your heart so full, your mind so fallow,
In your eyes the lost hope of new love's dawn,
You silently stand, as a misplaced pawn.
This a deep search, to forestall your barrow.

With offered touch, another's  lonely goal;
I see her full glean, her deepened mire,
Beyond this surge of her lone desire.
She sends her full heart to your lonely soul,
And in joyful tone,  it sates your fire.
With her song of love, the steeple bells toll.
 

Often,  to explain is pointless; this,  is  a  'stupid / smart'  senryu.  Smiles_!

stupid shopper
walked into this mall's fountain
smart phone

__I, a 'contrary',  am opposed to  -sad-,  the first line letters below. The 'contraries',  as are we all,  simply weigh opposing views  and breath within that balanced realm. _m

smell of green
another sense to life
dreams bloom

__The first day. Theology and all things then began, and that hidden stone held our history through an uncountable time... to the now. Often, small stones are left at grave sites, a marker of the visit; a stone icon that too, speaks of the first day.

hidden stone
such history it has kept
the first day

__I momentarily wander off to another place, and attempt to overlook my mistrust... of my own evaluation.  _m

My eyes search forward
to chart the clear horizon,
I doubt as I see.
A simple goal of my life,
so controlled by my mistrust.

__Every day of every year, families honor their lost members, lives lost by hero soldiers as they supported of our freedom. On Memorial Day, our United Family honors all our heroes lost__ with deep, country wide tribute_!  _m

the memorials
every day of every year
solemn bows

During the daylight, they can be watched for hours.

hump to hump
this measure of the journey
inchworm

This Cinquain is a recent comment posted at Rachel's  blog, with some slight changes. _m

I write,
as I do feel
this turmoil in my mind.
Perhaps by telling with my pen, 
I learn.
 

A bird's perch.
__This was scribbled long ago at a friend's garden, and this is the first post of that haiku.
__Nature, in its complex process of being, cares little of our icons, thus, Nature can seem crude to many eyes.

garden statuette
its cloak well painted blue
white shoulders

Living forward, or is it loving forward_?   Two letters, such little difference. 

the lilacs
as natures hand beckons
a hummingbird  

__A pond-side evening's campfire. This haiku was first seen at W.H.W., on September 16th, 2007,  where and when, John Mcdonald, (blog, Zen Speug) translated this to Scots. I then posted both at this blog on May 12th, 2009, and too, today. I thank you again, John.
 
day's ember
a promise in the rain
doves coo

*** Scots ***

day's aizle
a hecht i the weet
doos croodle

All things grow, with trust.

seed to seed
this year has spent its time
new blossoms

blossom to blossom
seasons grow their given trust
fruit gathers

Ahhhh. Spring rain, and nature's muse.

forsythia
behind her tresses veil
the muse
 

__In my comments, 'tis time I step back to fewer words; definitions as chosen by the reader, can often differ from those of a scribe... who intends no insults.  _m

Few words
often say more
than too many to count,
and in colloquial clamor
misread.
 

__Here, the bogs are encircled by forests that offer interesting evening concertos from the "Peepers.". _m

above this haze
tree frogs are counting stars
cranberry bogs

__Have you ever tripped over your own shadow_?  No_?   Well, I'd never thought as such... but_.  Smiles_!

moonlight walk
as I trip on my shadow
an owl laughs

__This was an echo / comment, I had left at Franks good blog, listed to the right. When you visit there, you'll see its inspiration... and  'parallel.'  >4/13/2915<   _m

ideas not used
clutter the mind's closet
spring cleaning

__This is an old haiku 'echo' I left as a comment on Nora Wood's blog, many years ago. Her blog, listed here as -Haiku a Day-, has long been inactive.

bird song
from this egg's crack
sunrise
 

Departure 19

__A re-visit; this was originally posted here, on March 24th of 2011. It was a reminder of awaiting the arrival of summer, and was originally scribbled during that wait of (circa) 1975.

Then and Now

Hours were longer, and in
Wishing for the day.
A child slept through
Bleaker nights,
Awakening to
Bluer skies where
Birds curled higher
Above greener trees,
Fields were broader
Hills taller,
Brooks deeper, and
Cleaner winds blew
Through darker forests:
Tomorrows were the
Next steps along
Secret paths that
Led to unknown
Places, where
Thickets of fatter
Raspberries waited.
And the
Sun rained down
To pull the earth
Through greening
Stems... into brighter
Flowers.

The child saw these things
Then... and now,
In the sculpture of memory.
_m

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

__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

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


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

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

__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

__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

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

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 

 

A recent comment/echo at Daniele's good blog >haikud'aile< but with a minor erasure.

my pencil notes
through every scribble book
eraser dust

__The 18th was Ash Wednesday; to you all, a fruitful forty days and too, far beyond. 
... for now. _m

brave search
yore-minds pure forgotten truths
envision

__This blog began on Friday, February 13th 2009, (Bad Luck Day?) This was my initial post and I thank you all, my friends, _m

snow fills
this cabin's shattered bones
a broken tea cup

... for now.

balance time
yesterday is tomorrow
eventide

Another... "33"

empty moon
the night sky fills the lake
a time of stars

lake shore cliff
moss clings to that rocky peak
mountain laurel
 

__It was long ago now. In that sun, the steeple's slate shingles warmed some, and its collected snow slid downward due to the vibrations of that ringing bell.  Poor paper boys!

the bell's chime
snow covers the church steps
Sunday papers

__Through a winter day's change to night,  that extreme temperature change stresses our nearby pond's ice-cap, and that increased tension causes the ice to loudly creak.

snow moon
this pond speaks to the night
a neighbor's dog

Not a seasonal >confusion < just the >comfort< of my memories. Smiles! _m

summer rains
wash this snowfall away
lost calendar

__Is the snow hawk waiting for its shadow, 0r is the shadow... waiting for another hawk?  _m

this snow hawk
flies away from its shadow
another waits

__I am a "Contrary." Saving, and gaining time can be an extreme advantage, but so often I'd rather see and learn that which lingers at each curve; my positive view. Can time gained, ignore history... and generate its loss? _m

old paths curve
new trails cut straight
history passed

__A new beginning,  my computer recovery  is complete, and now 'tis far more efficient than its last performance; nothing lost. _m

charcoal in the hand
pushed and pulled in eye's sight
a hawk watches
 

Sunrise, moonrise; each day the steps of each year; happy strides!  
__Best New Year wishes to you all, my friends! This, from long ago. _m

drumlins 
of breezes crossing this snow
corduroy

I think we'd better scribe our ideas, before they melt away.

times swing
this pendulum writes its thought
snowfall

__It's startling, is it not, that which old buildings can teach us?

buildings speak

silent words among themselves

the teachers 

__I minimized my activity and stepped aside for awhile, and scratched my fictions on yellow leagle pads... writer's "Flock"... it might be said. Smiles!
__This, a recent comment that I left at the good "Iris Haiku" blog.

winter moth
on this colder wind
a snowflake

We retard our clocks, but nature flows with quite different "time."

in lost light
our minds argue habit
birds shrug

__Bright yellow, and with their blackened trim... they could be;  'tis the season, yuh know!  Smiles! _m

a pumpkin row
their smiles at the closing bell
school busses

__That bond of the old and the new, the contraries; this meld of history and progress as seen within fall's naked limbs. _m 

an aged cabin
this site on the leafless hill
a satellite dish

Hallowe'en?
__The impossible can always occur; the crows' caws might scare the immovable scarecrow into its escape? Trapped in the maze?

a panicked scarecrow
flees down this corn maze pathway
the black birds caw 

In a night's breeze, the pumpkin winks as its candle flickers.

the black cat snarls

as this jack-o-lantern winks

voiceless wind 

Another... "33"
__Houseflies are immediate... don't know how long that discarded snakeskin had been there.

seasons change
as the night stains each day
the houseflies

yellow ferns
along this forest pathway
a snakeskin 

__October first, this start of our happy looks at the "strange, ghostly but comic" legends and mysteries; smiles, as I light my candle!

the silly pumpkin
a face of fantasy's deep
the candle smiles

__This, a very recent comment I left at Bill's good blog; "one fruit," their amalgam, surging toward their common goal of "common good."

varied roots
among the forest trees
one fruit

Near the pond's out-let brook, the seed fare.

blue-jays
sifting through fallen leaves
brook sounds

Departure 18.

__The final kno(t)... is yet to be tied.

A String of life

The first knot

Then another, and another

Knot_ after knot_ after knot.

In time the knots

Become too densely joined

Knotafterknotafterknot.

Too, soon the knots

Are tied with less compression,

Knot,  after   k n o t,   after   k n o. 

A comment left at Lorraine's blog; we often find it necessary to rely on historic technologies. 

lightning strikes
along this Scituate beach
wind the clock

Fall is coming closer; notice the September increase of houseflies?

houseflies
as each night stains the day
autumn creeps 

__To our new grandnephew, welcome J.J.; our congratulations to Mom Jackie, and Dad John! Nine pounds eleven ounces! 

his first step
into this frightening world
a change maker

To and for Devica, in complement to her most recent post: The rooster still shrieks... in the dawning.

fog cover
veils this morning sunrise
a rooster

Watch and listen.

we learn
standing aside in silence
waterfalls 

A time with friends. 

tea kettle
with the sound of soft rain
a campfire

A thought's view just moments ago,  now__  imagine this plausible coincidence.

new darkness
as my candle flickers out
this owl's breath

From last summer's scribble book.

this owl
speaking through the valley blooms
a distant train

Outside markets, or a country fair; a lost quater?

pigeons stroll
along the vendors path-way
a lost coin

In memory of our WW-2 veteran, Joseph Gaquin, Melbourne Fla.; this soldier marches onward.

to a new post
this soldier marches onward
memories

My penchant for stone walls; perched on this harrow, the crow speaks of history.

a crow speaks
on this abandoned harrow
stone walls

Too... from one of my old scribble books

waves of grain
breezes swirl this tall rye field
evening tide

Old, adjusted.

this firefly
caught in an on-shore wind
shooting star

Too, from old pocket notes, but new;  they all win. 
__Nearby, beach activities have been deferred in an effort to aid the waning Plovers with their reproductive process. 

white caps
their race under warming clouds
plovers beach

From an old "scribble book;" the sunset and the heron on the wing, had enhanced the pond's lure.

days close
across this sunset pond
a great blue

Farm sounds. Heard ?

morning rain
this herd at the gatepost
a rooster

I'll return soon, 6/14/14; good wishes! _m

breed wolves yowl 
through this rocky canyon 
a far train

The old path, shaded by fresh tree limbs.

green limbs
across this aged path
crossing the brook

A repost from 2009; today, it happens again.

new dance
with every raindrop
the fern

As the change in my pocket rattled:

in my pocket
this tensing noise of change 
a cat 

jonah crabs
side step on the high tide rocks
salty spiders

this crow
argues with another
car horns

The yellow smiles.

reflections rise
in uncountable places
dandelions bloom

__My senryu echo, entered on Daniele Duteil's blog "Haikud'aile," as an inspired, complementary comment.

open book
as written of this life
on the wing

This, from an older scribble book... seems... it will well fit into this evening.

the tree frogs
counting this nights stars
forsythias

Often on any walk, thoughts will take you to another time.

powder point bridge
a walk into yesterday
herring gulls

Another... "33"

the birds' songs
add to this days silence
insight

it swings
our spring's rusted gate
seasoned oil

Some things, we wish to see... no longer.

the sunrise
brings light to this salten bay
plastic bag

__March 22, 2014

__Happy Day, Kathy, my dearest lady!

Not only today, your Birthday, but for all your days to come, I shall love you... always! 

Happy,

My wife most dear,

I know full in this life,

You'll give more years of care and love.

Birthday!

In this late season, natural processes are seen; the maple's sap begins to flow.

maple trees
as snow and cold linger
this flow

A few days.

seeking a new trail 
my mind's pixels are cluttered
I clean the filter

From an old scribble book.

flocks of geese
return across this valley
the herring run

For Devika; her most recent post. 

in this now
tomorrow's memories
grapes ripen 

A night's new seeds, and in thought's garden... another day towards spring.

ice filled night
stars seeding this new garden
a crocus waits

For the passing of a long time friend... Ralph's rest.

as sunset enters

it follows his final step

pond rock shadow

__Tonight's snow fall maybe ten to twelve inches near the Cape Cod 'Ditch!' Oh well, 'tis winter, so what else should we expect? Smiles!

this cold spider

crawls up and down my spine

another log  

__My initial entry, here, was five years ago tomorrow. That... was Friday the 13th 2009 (So much for the "bad luck" day!) It, that first post, has been re-entered below, and I thank you my friends! _m

snow fills
this cabin's shattered bones
a broken tea cup

__Since our northern world has begun its 'lean' toward the sun, migrating birds will soon begin to fly; initially, this was scribbled during late February, 2004.

sailing our ship
he tacks to the warmer winds
birds fly

__I have long followed my attraction to old stone walls, and the live's that had made them;  stone walls, "historic monuments to the souls that toiled, and we are their children." Walls may be hidden in newer forests as nature overcomes, but the souls are never forgotten.
__Please visit Rita Odeh's blog, Catching the Moment.

old stone walls
circle an abandoned well
this new forest

Who needs a micro-wave? Jiffy-Pop still works so well... on the coals.

with popcorn
friends around this fireplace
warm words

Cold day; we sip another cup of tea.

squirrels fall
as birds harvest its seeds
icy feeder

__Decisions, quandaries, decisions... and among the holidays how that time can be compressed, then quickly worn away. My final decision, was in mid December; as of January first... I am among the retired! _m

this snow moon
shines with different light
new paths

dark woodnotes

owl calls through this breezy snow

another thought

__This, well imagined as I read the young people's book, "Where the Mountain Meets the Moon," written by Grace Lin. Its key storied thought is this, if you selfishly cling to that which you believe is yours alone, your greed can create your loss; if you are a giver, nothing will ever be lost.


reading this page
the borrowed words are yours
still giving

__To those of you that believe as I do, and to those who do not... it matters little; as I believe, this is my wish to you all!
__ "Have a very happy and content holiday season!"
 _m 

cold wind 
tries to reach your soul
family strength