these shadows
cross the ponds creaking ice
snow fall

Freshly filled with sunflower seeds.


a duel
this red squirrel spars the gray
bird feeder

Recycled thought, haibun of a sort.

__I am the splash that missed the funnel's gaping mouth; free, and not locked in this bottle of someone else's preset dreams, I trickle down this bottle's glassn' side and evaporate into... my own adventure.

a free drop
travels its chosen path
this bird flys

Some open water there, as the brook leaves this pond on its run to the sea.


light snow...
before the far shore pines
this lonely swan

Friends, you know the old saying: "Here one minute, gone the ne


pale stars
my silent schooner sails
a weak wind

From last summer, a warm afternoon... .


tiger swollowtail
floats with this old sun's breeze
silent flowers

__I've often referred to myself as an inwardly pedantic 'Contrary.' Pessoa once said: I'm not thirsty, pour me another drink.
__Oh... I don't consider myself a Pessoa parallel, I can only understand. His statue, in Lisbon.


wordly pigeons
rest at Pessoa's fingers
this bronze

__Nora, we wish a very special and Happy Birthday! D and K.

common
this day of birth
when murmurs soft sounds
pass through this noisy air of life's
moments

Last night.

a candle
hides this night's darkness
the tea steams

__Welcome my friends! Now, let us step back several months into that "other season," and out of this cold and snow! Ahh-haa, instead, shall we all just step forward?


warm light...
in scents of pine and lilac
this rose

__This brook flows into Cape Cod Bay. At high tide its "slow-flow pools" will ice over, and standing above that thin ice, the heads of this brook pool's stones can be seen.
__When the Bay's tide lowers the pool's water level follows; as the thin ice breaks away, around each stone remains a halo of ice... glimmering in the morning sun.
__The cycle will renew.

headwater pool
ice halos this naked stone
the tide rises

Winter's patch of green.


noon sun
burns this snowy path
green moss

A fresh snow often seems to purify, to calm and quiet, and those can be welcome changes; the silence after a busy, and happy day.


fresh snow...
this mountain brook's
silence

The titles matter little, 'tis the good wishes these words impart; my wishes to you all. _m

MERRY CHRISTMAS and HAPPY CHANUKAH_!!!!!!!!

Solstice


cold pause
earth's contrary tilt begins
this sun

During this season, some of us look back... the family times.


this lost voice
questions in black and white
photo album

My granddaughter, seven, calls me Papa. This afternoon she presented a picture she had drawn ... me, as a snowman, entitled Pupu. Ahhh... what a grand and loving gift !!!!!


coal eye drips
this snowman's heart surges
handkerchief

From last season's scribbled notes; a sleigh?


mulled cider...
along this path of snow
a stone wall

This, a comment left at: travellingspouse.blogspot.com some fine and graceful photographs... that speak of age. (Or is it 'still stand'?) _m

curve meets curve
and joined in their dance
stand still

Saturday, came our first snowfall... sparse as it was.


afternoon
crows count the flakes
light snow

__I'm not above re-posting, in particular if they are as important to me as is this... wondering. This, my first blog post.
__Once, a few years back in Winchester CT., I followed a stone wall through the woods, and it led me to this site. I've wondered since... about the people of the cabin and the teacup; I wonder still.


snow fills
this cabins shattered bones
a broken teacup

As yet, no snow here; this... from last winter.


footfalls
tracks that find the dawn
night snow

Could be anywhere... people talking in the cold, and each word is shown as an instant's cloud.


cold writes
the words of unheard voices
cloud wisps

At this time, I thank you all ! _m


kitchen scents
the din around this table
family pie

A fall contrary; the ferns have turned, the moss... as lush as July.

brown ferns
dance above their carpet
green moss

Welcome.

rusty hinge
on an open iron gate
this inn

__I first punched a key at this blog, on Friday the 13th, February 2009; tomorrow is another Friday the 13th.
__To my 'new' like minded friends, and to my 'older' like minded friends, I thank you all for your visits!
__I'll be stepping aside for a few days, to the pond, see you soon! _m

day break
this frozen rain clatters...
tree limbs

Predator birds miss... more often than not; the chipmunk has "other days."

a hunter
soars above the field
its search
diving hawk
this chipmunk to its den
tomorrow

__In compliment to Devika's tanka of 10/27/09, "by the same pond;" the echoes may be the fallen leaves floating, those -voices- of the past. _m

ponds
await their icy caps
echoes

Looking for the wind.

thoughts linger
among these fallen leaves
a wren

The gobble-de-gook of this day/night... but not, Lenore!

gouls and goblins
rap rap rapping at my door
the moon

__In my searches it was said that, Krigia Biflora blooms into late August. I'd better inform these wild flowers that their -timing- is out of sync.; October 29th, brilliant yellow blossoms compete with the fall birches... and the sunrise. Misplaced Kigo?


this Cynthia
stands as rival to the birch
morning sun

From a recent comment... this changed thought.

horizon...
the mountains watch a near storm
night fall

__I haven't the credentials to suppose I know the form of Sedoka, I can only rely on my opinion; six lines, both the first and second triplets quite able to be read as haiku/senryu, and as linked... the whole, a complete feeling. I think the structure of 5-7-7 , 5-7-7... is subject to the same English syllable minimalism as haiku and senryu.
_m

a forest trail
dry leaves whisper my steps
beechnuts
this deer runs
and spews fog above its nose
stillness

It seems "plastic" doesn't fit well with "ancient rite." A paradox from last year.

all hallows' eve
this ancient rite of mischief
a plastic mask

An echo, as generated by Nora's fine post of Wednesday, Oct. 14.

half life
in last night's dream
a river

quickly
my rushing heart
this message of the lost
in songs of my tomorrow's wish
believe

My granddaughter began her eight year... yesterday. Since Halloween is on its way, this... Maya's costume (a little too long) of last year.

ghost girl
trips to treat to trick to treat
bed sheet

A stricking contrast, the changing color of the vine, the green of the pine.

a red vine
wraps this evergreen's trunk
season mark

Seasons close, thus a Wednesday night at home... and this charactor (a coincidental posting)is just a few weeks away.

jack-o-lantern
waits in this crop row
a candle

For a friend

moondrips
quietly fall
with the soft evening rain
each drops glow of this empty sky
written

__For tomorrow, in some ISTD terms... Happy Anniversary Kathy! Such years that seem so quickly to have passed... but NEVER lost. Love Ya! _m

our waltz
through these years
quickstep

Wind at the windows.

panes rattle
above this night's wind
the tea kettle

__One very still night, a week or so past, I stood and watched the silent pond, the night sky reflected upward and not the slightest breeze scurried the surface.
__I wondered about the campfire light, streaking the pond from the far side... and the campers that were tending their fire. Then came my crudity, and the comment... returned:

i belched...
from across the pond
a dog's bark

No... not my last brick, but now... a nail. (punctuation?)

a rusty nail
there hang the old blue-jeans
this barn

__I have, these many years, thought of words, as bricks. The structures built... can have weakness and strength, simplicity and complexity, ugliness, beauty, thought and imagination, and the wonder of these structures depends on the artful pattern in which the bricks had been lain.
__Today, at Bill Owen's blog, I left this response to his single line haiku, of September 14th., the link... WF Owen, below.


the last brick... I close the book

This, from last fall.

goldenrod
on anise scented breeze
changes flag

Tele a to; and for your visits, I sincerly thank you all. _m

older...
we can laugh without
red tape

morning
a fog curls
this night's lingered trinket
where turns of change to new day's sun
holds secrets

__The hucksters have moved on from the 'back to school' supplies and clothing to the next 'seasonal mark,' All Hallow's Eve. The retail shelves are (too early) full of costumes, plastic pumpkins, scarry trinkets, candy... and masks. Remember when some of the fun of IT... was the -making- of the costumes and masks, and fashioning your own pumpkin?
__This scribbled note from mid-summer... then, there was never the thought of Halloween. _m

grand daugter
smiles through her blackberry pie
masquerade

The Canada geese; this, first seen at Tinywords, 9-6-07.

moonrise...
geese argue
with their shadows

Hello friends; this one from a few years back, a daily visit with his lost master/friend.

sad dog
visits each day
this headstone

Back to the pond; I thank you all for your visits, and I wish you all a grand weekend! _m
-It wont be long now, this change. -


lower sun
as finches loose their color
this maple tree

The next wildflower.

a broach
jems this Queen Anne's Lace
ladybug

Home from the pond; this afternoon's walk around the cranberry bog. (A bee with an alergy?)

goldenrod
along this dusty road
a bee's sneeze

_During each of these summer weeks, Kathy and I spend 4 or 5 days at our pond, and there the wireless links are weak and momentary, at best... but I try.
_From Emma's blog, the word -midden- reminded me of a scribbling of mine from a few years back.

flowers
rise from this midden
soft rain

Off... to the pond, 'tele a to.'

silent
the heron walks
and wades along this shore
a sense on sense survival search
alone

A Student says, I have much to learn;
a Master says, I have learned... how little I know.

today
I search the earth and clouds
yesterday

Remember when the jelly jars were saved... expendables, for sipping milk and juice, and perhaps some "Moxie" ?

this sip
wine's call to childhood
a jelly jar

Nervously nocturnal, their eyes glow in the least light.


flying squirrel
in these darkened leaves
two moons

Nora... urged I post this, this private note to her, and the connective haiku comment I left at her blog, and that I conjoin them... as haibun. This, a recollection, then, of times passed, and I thank you, my young friend!

_We visited my father's grave as often as we could, he in North Western Connecticut, and we here. During those nine years I noticed no changes in that unpretentious country graveyard, or as some would call it, unkempt.
_Then my mother joined him; the day after her funeral, and only then, I noticed her freshly cut name and date... in the moss and ivy, and mold of their darkened cairn. Odd, how things can grow and change and be so unseen until that one instant of reality.

ivy and moss
on this old stone
a new name

_To my niece, Maureen, her husband Jason, and our Grandnephew "Jake" we offer our deepest congratulations; soon a new Son and Brother, and for K and I, a new Grandnephew!
_Too, we extend our good wishes to the waiting Great Grandmother, Grandmother, and Aunt! (My post of July 16th was -not- a premonition, but yet... this is a sequel.)

life begun
grows in his time before time
this son

Both needed.

sun...
lures this new flower
the rain

Back to the pond... and the mosquitoes.

lamplight
mosquitoes play chess...
we castle

Kathy, just... didnt see me.

I wave to you
across this empty common
a pigeon replies

I'd written a much longer story to this, too long to post.

_Years back, I saw a pastel painting on a silk scroll... a flying bird, and clasped in its claws and beak, were twigs and grasses... the things of a nest. Along side the painting were Japanese characters that, of course, I could not decipher. Now I can only speculate.

time
begins in every birth
the nest

Team work.

a hummingbird
hovers with the bee
one blossom

...and the rain persists


my schooner
sails an empty wind
the reef

Sounds of the pond, in the night's stillness.

night pond
crickets... frogs and rain
a distant highway

An "E" link, I thank you all. _m

anemones
bursting in this night's sky
fireworks

Something different.
_Sunday's comment at Words Flow, and when I read Lorraine's words I instantly and easily scribbled this echo; Lorraine suggested I post that verse here, and I Thank you, Lorraine.

_My wife Kathy, she and I, are off to the pond 'till Sunday, coming... hope to find an -E-link.

The nights
Changed to dream,
The moment she became
All my days.

I look for those things of time, the flowers of now... from then, and the remnants of that that was.

tiger lilies
reunion of timeless friends
stonewall

Another instant home; Scusset... a breakwater in Plymouth.

clam shells
rattle in the surf
footprints

Here, it seems it has been raining_ forever.

nectar feeder...
its plastic flowers
drip of rain

Home for an instant: Through the summer, holly leaves turn yellow then fall away... quickly replaced by new green.

yellow leaves
this holly changes clothes
a finch

Balance

I'm off on a tangent today. I was fifteen when this was written... then, I had aspirations of becoming a bard when I grew up; fifty one years later, nothing has changed. ;-)

The world is in my hands,
Mine are scared and stained
By the blood and gashes
Of past mistakes.
But
The future will cleanse and cure them
To preserve the evil that lies within,
For without evil there can be no good,
And good is the paradigm I seek.

_At Past Tense, Andrew's most recent good posting has brought to my memory this... scribbled in my notes a few years back; one word, I trust, will be offensive to no one.

far lightning
above the soft thunder
my dog farts

An instant home from the pond. Every year at this time, I search for these wild flowers.

silence
walks among these trees
ladyslippers

Sunrise.

morning mist
jems the spiders art
a moth

A new day begins.

bird talk
this five o'clock
alarm

This silliness of rain drops putting out the 'fires.' Oh, not to worry... they all 're-lit!' This, a second posting.

fire flies
in this night's soft rain
pfsst pfsst pfsst

night train
the distant wheels rhythm
rising fog

Home from the pond. A photograph by Edward S. Curtis, circa 1905, drove this thought.

warm pool
in this spring stream rage
dream's maid

Wedensday night, a useable E-link at our pond... and the tree frogs.

moonlight
after this late day's rain
tree songs

Breezy night, moon's shadow... projected.


leafed limb
a night shadow's broom whisks
the cottage side

Home from the pond this AM. There, there are -weak- wireless linkages.

at the door
eight abandoned shoes
steeplechase

Shouting chapmen... most pigeons scatter.

street sellers
tout their worldly wears
pigeons

This... first seen at wonderhaikuworlds.

_I took a step, then a second and a third... thus began my trek along this beach of writers. I glance back and see my footmarks fade and flatten under these waves of words. A sand castle tumbles.
each grain
is this sandcastle
the tide rises

_In a faded moment, I liken myself to a mere grain of sand along this shore of poets; a grain of sand that can never write, but can only witness. I am the simple scribe of what I see and hear, touch and taste, and smell. I dream.
sunset
this salty surf throbs
a song of roses

Cold slides down the hills... not exactly warm here today!

cold spills
across this warmed pond
new fog

The rainy sunset's ember, a promise of tomorrow.

day's ember
a promise in the rain
doves coo

John McDonald translated this into Scotts, on 9/16/2007, at WHW.

day's aizle
a hecht i the weet
doos croodle

I thank you again, John!
_m

When one sees or imagines a scene such as this, does an old, forgotten homestead come to mind?

dirt road
where the brook crosses...
lilacs

The... nature of "life."

inch worm
measures this briered vine
catbird

Irony at the Grange... from a few Septembers ago. _m

grange supper
vegetables in the stew
from a can

bog breeze
a great blue heron
poses

a bee
finds the sweet...
a jelly jar

Watching, is trouble free.

night breeze
with her kittens in a row
the skunk

Water Face

_I scribbled a short story years ago: At the native clan's summer camp, a Mahican child saw his reflection in the river's pool; through accumulated summers, the river's pool never changed... but his face never stopped... . This sedoka, (some may not call it that,) as a condensation of that story, was posted on 11/11/07 at http://www.wonderhaikuworlds.com/ .
_Janice's most recent post "reflected" this memory... though now, it has become somewhat "edited."

of this river pool
a mahican sees his face
in its roaming course

of that water face
this child of spirits reasons
he may never know

Good afternoon!

new dance
with every raindrop...
the fern

We are away for a few days, and the wireless link there can be a matter of chance.
This, for my Grandaughter.

eyes open
her rag doll tries to sleep
counting stitches

As inspired by Nora's haiku of yesterday; one wonders... who planted this tree, and who that bird might be.

this pear tree
in blossoms of memory
a bird tends