This, a comment, left at friend Nora's blog.


at my ear
this mosquito...
spilled wine

This... was left as a comment at Talon's good blog.


a wing
into another summer
the bee

Hollow Lies

A departure: a short story that may reflect the thoughts of a Patuxet clansman.

__I looked into the boy's face and saw tears... coursing down those dirty cheeks. "Boy, what are those tears?"

__"These tears question my value to me, and my clan. Old one, hidden among your years you must surely have known these doubts, and found the answers to the troubles of the young; having found those answers, please share them with me and my impatience."
__"Boy, I fear I've frogotten the troubles of a child... as a child sees their troubles. What, can your cares be?"

__"Elder, I have tried to be what the clan wants me to be, to be where I am wanted, and not where... I am not. I have been silent, I have spoken only when spoken to, and then only in the Spirit's truth. I have tried to make my clan proud of me, and me... proud of me; I've cared enough to do these things, but these tears still trace my failures, and my failures seem all that matter. Old one, to unravel these streaks of tears... I ask three questions. Will I ever please myself? Will I ever please my elders, and why are my tries... overlooked?"
__"Child, always be pleased with your attempts to please; If your unnoticed tries to please are your greatest triumphs, that joy is a gift you can give to yourself, and then you will see the sum of those tears fade as you follow that joy into new tomorrows. But first, you must see that tomorrows contentment can never be yours if you linger... within yesterdays unanswerable questions."

I awoke.

__Within that instant's kef of a vanishing dream... I saw the rusting tears of the boy that I once was, and I knew I had told myself... Hollow Lies.
_m

The color, the name... and a child smiles.


tiger lilies
open to a new day's sun
this swallow tail

From last summer.


keeled minds
sail quiet seas
courses of a given chart
this ruddered imagination
explores

Last Saturday even'n... at the pond.


stars hang
in this spider web
a night's dew

I guess everyone knows... why the cat ran.


a cat ran
this dog stands at rigid pose
on three legs

__In, and beyond these rapid and incalculable changes that erode what we once knew, I admire the changeless. I'm privileged... to have been able to watch the Catbird hatchlings change, in that changeless scheme of creation; today I smiled broadly at this sight... an empty nest.


a change
the catbirds take to wing
changeless

An instant's Cinquain echo... left at Cynthea's blog, in response to her good post. _m


my soul
above the flame
from out of this smoke reaches
grasping at every memory
ashes

Twice a day I check the nest; she senses I am of no harm.


catbird...
I watch her nested young
this trust

__Those that know a little of me, know how enamored I am, by those things left behind; found in my imagination are the stains of the sweat and blood that graced the toil of these people... unknown. __Stonewalls, abandoned foundations, crumbled barns... all, monuments to their builders. _m


stonewalls
these lines of once...
a dove coos

This, as seen in Ambrosia Edition 2.


blue jays clamor
in this noonday sun
the brook's echo

__An abrupt stop, and flashers; the driver, my wife quick to the rescue, carried the turtle across the road to its destination... the pond.


this turtle
plants its yearly seeds
a walk back

__From Milton's Masque 'Comus,' circa 1634, a few of the early lines that seem to fit today's life__ as I had read them:

"Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot
-Which men call Earth, and, with low-thoughted care,
-Confined and pestered in this pinfold here,
-Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being,
-Unmindful of the crown that Virtue gives,"


virtue sought
we frail beings...
a breath

__Home from our pond; this from last night as we sat on the dark deck... and watched the spider's work.


candles
light this darkness
a spider

__I saw, a few days back, this photo-haiku at Devica's blog: "Deserted," was the name of her post.
__It's strange that a link there... had taken me back to the Connecticut town where I had been raised, and a school through which I had passed.



long pathway
follow these slippery stairs
careful steps

__Once in a while I actually like something I've written, and I'm not above 're-posting.' This I scribbled several years back, and posted here 'bout a year ago. It was my last 'butterfly' haiku, and since, I've used the common, or the biological name of the butterfly seen.


listen...
above the silent flowers
a butterfly

__One of the charmers of our summer pond-life, the chipmunks, always provide evidence of their surprising intellect, and leave us... smiling at their antics. But one fellow last summer, failed to solve this 'carry away' dilemma... the 'stuffing' of his cheeks. (chips?)

a chipmunk
fails to run off with his prize
this potato chip

Their colors.


a lilac bush
smiles into this new day
purple finches

Yesterday's storm... lightning, and heavy hail.


thunder storm
sleet clatters with the lightning
this pond boils

Reflections, Earth Day_.


trees
on this pond
stand above

Happy Birthday LL! 51 red balloons!


one breath
the steps of learning began
first day

__The Nemaskets, a clan of the Wampanoags, used the phrase -the moon of leaves- and that, it is said, was the month of June; perhaps it was a reference to the first spouts of Mondomin, or corn.
__Now, the tree leaves become full during the first week of May, and May's moon I see as "this moon of leaves." An entry in my scribble book, from last May.


warm night
this moon of leaves...
pond frogs

a dog howls
its forecast across this pond
heavy winds

__An early season night at our pond; as the robin's breast blends with the sunset, the owls begin their nightly calls... and at ease, the robin adds its final chirps of its day.


sunset
this treed robin joins
an owl's call

own the wild
this bear follows a trail
without cages

This Cinquain... I left as a comment at Ashi Words, I'll add that -> Ashi 2, as listed in the links on the right, is Jen's very interesting and participative haiga blog. Well worth the visits!


I write
and of these words
that fall out of my mind
I keep some that I never said
not said

How slowly things change, and yet, how quickly.
__From creaking ice to this greening underbrush... but a moment in time. Just yesterday we were fighting snow and frozen pathways, confined in our boots and parkas, hoods and gloves, the only sounds were the howl of the winds and driven snows.
__Today the tree buds are swollen, the birds are calling, and the squirrels, the chipmunks and rabbits are tending to their awakening, and the Sun warms our world.
__The flowers are smiling; its time to put the snow-shovels away.


green and blue
beyond this winter's bounds
flowers smile

__Yesterday, the forsythia bloomed, and in last night's warm air the peepers sang.


x marked frogs
these peepers in the night
love songs

So often, in spite of our carelessness, nature overcomes... .


green sprout
bursts through this plastic bag
a new flower

Good Friday.
__To those that follow these holy days, I wish you the best of weekends; to those that do not, I wish you the best of weekends! _m


midday shower
dust washes from the leaves
humming birds

Quincy Market's, sidewalk performers.


pigeons dance
a violin sings their waltz
smell of rain

An Austrailian oddity, camouflage.


south coast
these Leafy Seadragons swim
the mimes

A repetitive parallel:
Sometimes, I need to step back... to see where I wish to go.


look beyond
see of that pebble
this ruby

wild turkeys
strut across this muddy path
the owners

Sometimes, I need to step back... to see where I wish to go.


warm new rain
beats this trash can lid
a crocus blooms

I referred to her silently as "Shelly," but, of course, not in class.
__It was 1959 and Shelly was an elderly, High School English teacher; as a sophomore, with extreme misfortune I was assigned to her class. She pulled and pulled, and I hated every moment. As a Junior I was in her English Literature class, I hated every moment. Senior year? I chose to enroll in Shelly's Creative Writing course, an optional class, and I hated every moment.
__Shelly never taught me how to think as she might think, or to dream as she might dream, to write as she would write, or to understand as she understood. She taught me to think as I would think, to dream as I would dream, to write as I would write, and to understand as I would know.
__ She once said: "A poet can only put marks on the page, it is the reader that must interpret the dream."
__Shelly was a teacher, long before the word 'imprint' became a synonym for 'educate'.



the teacher
pulls the student from the root
a tree spreads

For and old friend.


old walls talk
cracks and dust that speak of time
well worn shoes

No inner voice... to point the way.


crossroads
to choose another course
a voiceless owl

"Lost in Spring Dreams" You are missed.


ripples traced
across this silent pond
ducklings

This, is an echo left at Sandy's 'Four Winds Haiga' blog, in complement to her fine post of 3/6/2010.


twilight robin
his breast is the sunset
a night song fades

Moving on...


the sun peers
through this frigid window
a door opens

"All in all... your just another brick in the wall." Hold your youngsters close.


young people
of those that wander astray
society's claws

__Our granddaughter became seven, in October 2009; this was she, frolicking across the lawn just after a July afternoon rain, 2007. __Remember when we... ?


bare feet patter
across this dampened grass
a child laughs

The sleet, rattling at the window, sure sounds like popcorn poppin!


sleet rattles
against these window panes
popcorn

All things reach... a terminal change.


gravity...
melting icicles drip
a river

__My "contrary" view of those things now deemed... indispensable. I certainly use my cell phone!


homeless soul
dozing on the city's bench
his ring tone

__Not a hawk, but a hawk came quickly to mind. Sometimes hawks seem to crawl through the air rather than fly, thus... from a photo at Devica's blog of 2/21/10, Moonlight. _m


nighthawk
crawls above a blooming moon
this air rises

Another... from last summer's scribble pad; the dove sips from a sun-struck rain pool.


this dove
kisses itself
a puddle

Again, looking ahead as winter begins to fade, a scribble from last summer.


a sip of wine
beneath the holly tree
this catbird

Anticipation, seeing that which isn't.

green
below the drift...
a fern

snow melt
streaks down this window
the cat's paw

Release.
__The final step, beyond all pain.
__A daughter, a sister, wife and mother... cousin and friend; this flower girl. A family's sadness at your leaving, but gladness... that you've entered your peaceful realm. For Sandi.

step beyond
this pain is left behind
remember

Saturday.
__Today, February the 13th, this Magyar-Haiku blog has become one year of age; some old friends, and so many new have added in my mind, to its surprising acceptance here!
__Now then, a self-important question has arisen within me and thus, a few days to silently ponder... and a glass of wine.
__This toast to you all, in thanks! _m

this infant
peers through his year old eyes
a smile

Pristine snow... .

new snow
paces of those that are...
not yet

This haiku from 2008, its explanation from moments ago. Perhaps, then, it has become a haibun. _m

__Soon to be... as days are longer, the sun warmer and the nights remain cold, this change of pressures causes the sap to flow. New buds will soon stand and redden, as they begin their swell toward the leaves of May.
__Shortly, the taps will be in the maples... the sugar of spring.

old trees
their life begins its flow
closer sun

A Cinquain of the moment, left as a comment at Talon's blog... here, slightly altered. _m


sunset
a silence ends
the bellow of this day
we travel to that quiet realm
welcomed

__I use the -moon- rarely, last night... its brightness was remarkable, and a herald of things to come. Phil, has seen his shadow.


light path
cuts through these frozen limbs
spring moon

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