Sandy buzzed through, and kidnapped the 'lectricity; Kathy and I, yesternight.


the modern
abducted by the sandy storm
lamp light


checkers
kinging in this darkness
candle games

__Coastal brooks are controlled by the tides. High tide slows the brook's flow, but in the tides ebb a brook pool can lower by several inches.
 __ Envision a cold winter day, that thin formed ice around the brook pool's stone, and that ice clinging to the stone as it looses support from brook pool's water.


ice halos
encircle this brook pool's stones
low tide

We (I) change, as do the seasons.


this crow changes
flying in deeper shadows
a rusty leaf

__ At 'our pond,' we most often use our old fashioned glass percolator; so well do we truely enjoy the difference... that at this seasonal close of the 'camp,' our coffee pot has gone home with us.


a smell of coffee
lingers in this morning air
the glass top rattles

31 years... today,  happy anniversary, Kathy!
__One morning, many, many years ago now, I stepped out of bed... immediately Kathy rolled into that newly vacant spot. I asked "are you cold ?" Without opening her eyes, Kathy simply said, "no, it just smells like you."  That moment, never forgotten. _m


each morning
her new day's gift
that smile

An uncomfortable day at our pond, and yet we still dream.


autumn rain
drips from the changing leaves
this clock

It could happen.


cranberries
floating on this harvest bog
a crayfish

From two nights past, the storm... .


in this wind
the swamp birches dance
golden rod

To a friends joy, we welcome you, "Max!"


a birth
out of this cracked egg
sunrise


And from my scribble book, a few weeks past, and a rare -adjusted- comment.


bouquet ribbon
these black-eyed susans
a spider web

__Tall grass waves in the wind, and the long parallel stems  seem... as harp strings; a wind's song.


grass harp
of this maiden lea
the wind

Masked by the fog; the heron.


late day fog
veils our silent pond
a great blue

Summer's  night.


winds meet
mosquitoes in that eddy
chalk dust

Quick stop at home.
__My nine year old Granddaughter, Maya, loves haiku; this is another of her's. It has not been rewritten.
 _m


water flower
floating on the diamond
pink and blue

__I felt the guilt; it had been too long since I traveled to my homeland, the Berkshire Foothills, and my needed visit to my Mother's and Father's grave site. A busy but satisfying week.

__I stepped to their marker, and before them I sat to my heals and reached out to touch their carved names. As the morning sun painted my reflection on their glassy stone, it shown back with the image of their faces. "We've not forgotten you," they said, and I answered, "nor have I,  you." 
__I left my two cents... well hidden there; the first penny, minted the year of my Father's passing, the second... the year that my Mother followed.

new 
the fresh cut grass
morning breeze

__I turned and took the first steps away, but in glancing back I sensed I was not  leaving, I was walking to... to count many more steps.

the doves
their counted steps
many more

I just can't roll over__  and tap the 'Doze' button.
-Several of my posts have been at: 33 minutes past the hour. (?)-


mocking bird
the morning alarm clock
no doze button

An evening at the pond; this,  an old one... may have been seen before. 


goldfinch
this rocking chair squeeks
each page

A law of physics renewed:
Every action, has an equal and opposite... criticism.
__Back to our pond, see you soon. _m


night breeze
in this dancing candle flame
a spider web

This morning's sunrise at our pond.


the crown
on this highest stone
daybreak

__Nature's tools: Tools, used in the gathering of food and those used as weapons...  protection in that fight for life. It would require hours of searching and listing; from the bee's stinger to the wolves' teeth, from the deer's antlers, to this hawk's claws. The list can go on and on,  in Nature's War of Survival; a most natural plan.
__Just a thought. _m


this red tail circles
in its curling route above
silence in the brush

Departure 14

__I first tried to discover  the -Secrets of the Sonnet- when I was in high school; I've been struggling with that discovery... since.
__In the octet I watch his sorrow, in the sestet I see her sorrow join with his, to create the contrary.

'Found'

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

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

   Devika, we have cormorants in New England too... on occasion, they -harvest- small fish from our pond, such a natural process; some local folks, once refered to them as 'Taunton Turkeys.'


cormorants
stalkers on the pond rock
hatchlings

moonlight bats 
in this forests dark
the moths

... and, Kristin,  an echo's echo.


rain drops
fill my minds dreams
a river runs

an old bridge
spans this swollen river
suns ray

At Rudi's blog, an old vinal record:


songs escape
from these tired grooves
a needle's thread

Though I know you'll not visit my blog FJS (el "Toro") I extend to you... the best of birthday wishes.


this far light
streaks across the night pond
a bull sounds

As seen at Daniele Duteil's good blog. I thank you Daniele. _m


seeds
this money of nature
a butterfly

__Kathy and I have some dear, -our pond- friends. Among them, Bob and Teresa, ("Tree" as she is called,) are celebrating two grand events... the birth of their first grand child, and today is their 34th wedding anniversary!


thirty four years
this crow and the tree
a new branch

__A refreshed view... for today's (my) sour morning's out-look, and by seeing Lorraine's recent post... came this. Thanks, LL!


tree arms
reach into the sky
a bird

__Weeping willows, with their new and tender leaves, never a tear.


weeping willows
golden waves in this breeze
noon sun

Soon, Kathy and I will be spending much of our time at -our pond- that natural haven.


our pond
with greening underbrush
the doves

We've all seen cats... stalk a shadow;  this, from last summer's scribble book.


the shadow 
caught by this stalker cat
a humming bird

Like the tea... seasons brew.


tea steeps
in this budding cup
a taste

This, I recently left as a comment on an old friend's blog. Barks?


dogwood
barks into its branches
leaves flutter

March 21st, 11pm... 64 degrees, watching this warm night


cloudy mist
fills the big dipper
tree frogs

A surprise contact between a Magyar family member and I; inspiring.


distant bridge
this far family line
a drum beat

Departure #13

Another old scribble.   _m

Style…

Style is yours, a personal sign, and
     Fashion... another’s glee.
Thus avoid the newer trends, where
    Some think you ought to be.

By melting into a reasoned blend
     Quiet... and unheeded,
Each fashion’s, tidal flood and wane,
     For you, will pass un-needed.

So set your style to fit your fashion
     Your... fashion to fit your style,
And the art of being over looked,
     Puts fashion in your smile.

The "peepers" as we call them, soon to be heard; this,  from one of my old 'scribble books.'


warm night
a page of what will be
tree frogs

A few nights ago... that dance of the northern lights.


a far dog
howls at the northern sky
night pulse

Some ways of telling time;  soon... .


pond shore
these robins and willows
a bell rings

Spring is knocking at the door... .


at the gate
spring reaches for its latch
new crocus

My meager attempt, Hungarian to English; this, from last Spring; now this corrected translation is by Iris... with my thanks! _m

napos rugyek
a reggeli to keresztul
a hattyuk


sun buds
across this morning pond
the swans

Departure # 12

__I wrote this when I was seventeen, October, 1960. I think now, we are all looking for the first two lines of the third stanza; the change cycles continue... unchanged. _m

*Rose Red Trees*

Rose red trees
Flecked with gold,
The colors of clans
From legends old.

Warmed by the sun
Through a bitter fall day,
Withered by cold
And wafted away.

Then green we see
In season's sun,
To rose red again
Life's cycle run.

Sadie Hawkins' Day,  a leap year  snow fall.


leafless trees
sift the falling snow
lonely crow

The foot hills backbone; a hawk.


red tail
over this foothill chine
a rainbow

__The good and the bad; by looking at a grand old tree, have you ever wondered what life that tree has seen? The history?


trees eyes
hidden in its rings
war years

*****

tree rings
this unread book
new sprouts

__Nearby, five modern windmills have become electriclly productive. Not finding them visually polluting, I see a certain grace in their movement... thus, I must be odd.  


windmills
as this day sun fades
a sweater

__Friends, you may be interested in a contest, this, as listed at: varientaenglezeasca.blogspot.com


looking out
this search for the green
a bird calls

From one of my 'scribble books'... to be seen again.


new buds
on this tiny branch
a pencil line

To the contrary, thus,  a positive.


trails start
new paths begin to cross
the flowers bud

The doves... shine through it all. From last summer's scribble book.


the politics
of this flock of grackles
doves whisper

The cattle know the time of day... they gather at the barn door; day's end gate.


icy fence line
they wander to the barn
day's gate

Once seen at WHW; a memory of the summer past and a thought of that to arrive.


holly tree
in this snowy wind
a bird nest

__Recently, Devica posted this quote by  Robert Lewis Stevenson, "Wine is bottled poetry."
__Then is it fair, in a contrary view to say?   "Poetry is a glass of wine."


chianti
I pour another glass
the third line

Now, I must return to the minimal.


sunlight
lingers at each day's end
sap flows

Departure #10

A 40 year old photo of my daughter Jess; she recently brought this to the light of day. Guess who it is wispering... "smile"...  into Jessica's ear!

















old memory
this kettle on the hob
warmth

I left this at our friend Tim's, Catnip bolg, he suggested I reuse it... here.


locked in
dreams search this wind
the wings

__I have an old and heavy, navy blue corduroy shirt... there's a pocket on each breast, and over all it looks as if it has had little use.  It's flaw? The button down collar is worn through at the fold. I've been looking for a replacement, but all are of lighter materials, only a few have pockets, and some with the retailer's emblem where a pocket should be (I should pay for their advertising?) None of those shirts had been made here.
__Guess what I did this morning! A seam ripper, 40 minutes and Kathy's sewing machine; thus in the old fashioned way, I managed to re-position my collar!


reverse
stitches hide the wear of time
obverse

__In my bothersome state, there are some blogs on which I cannot leave comments... the comment pages have been locking-up. As a Blog-O-Sphere illiterate, "I feel I'm out on the desert, and my only tools are... a canoe and a paddle;  sometimes its best to watch the weather, and wait for the rain."  _m


drought days
waiting for the rain
a paddle

Departure # 9

Quiet time can generate... free thought.


Ideas.
Seeds planted
By a muse's call...
Nurtured,
Weeded, pruned, urged by thought's breath
Without the restrictive rein of didactic
Demands.

Allowed.
The idea blooms...
__Nurtured, ideas ripen;
__Ignored, they sour on the vine.

A book, a glass of wine... .


quiet night
only the rocking chair's squeek
a new page

Departure #8

__Kathy is the photographer in our happy lives, she snapped this in mid-summer of 2011. Is there any wonder why we enjoy the time we spend at our pond?


this flower
in its closing beauty
the seeds

This extended thought had arisen from our friend Talon's comment of 12/29/11.


an empty chair
still looks to this warming hearth
the tea kettle

Not sadness... a remembrance, as we step toward the New Year.

__12/31/11... Thanks, friends, quickly home from our -cold- pond just to say hello... and wish you all a Happy New Year!
See you on 1-2-12. 


new frost
on these headstones
old names

Yesterday morning, as a very few snow flakes seemed to float through our 'back-space' trees, three deer were at play. Dryads.


white tails
frolic in this misty snow
free minds

My Best Christmas Wishes to you ALL!  Here a rare punctuation mark. _m 


season's change
as the cold deepens
snow fall

The services: whomever, whenever... wherever they may be.


doves gather
while hearts of like hope speak
a bell rings 

A new direction... found.


herring gull
circles in this snowfall
sun seeps

__This haiku was contributed to, and seen in the anthology,  "One Thousand Cranes" in 2009; it was scribbled during the winter of 2007.


snow fills
this cabins shattered bones
a broken tea cup

__Let's step forward, by stepping back. This, an older haiku of mine, as seen within the pages of the Wonder Haiku World's fine,  primier anthology... "Spasms of Light."


listen
among the silent flowers
a butterfly

This...  is an echo I recently left at a friends blog; I think, here, the implied time is that 'eternal' season. _m


an owl counts
when the moon catches a star
this traveler

__I am attracted by these monuments... to the toils of people long gone;  this, two winters past, a snow-field, etched by the crossing walls.


stone walls
draw square to square
snow fall

__Often, being avoided becomes a compliment; I wear the badge.


set apart
with no reseptive word
an emblem

__A special  Thanks-Giving  to all my friends, you've given (me) a lot... since this blog began.
From me... happiness and smiles to you all! _m


a wild turkey
escapes through the underbrush
this can of spam

Ahead of me, they quickly crossed the road, thus... two haiku with the effort of one.


this sunrise
melts away a night of frost
the deer move

two deer
cross my morning path
breath clouds

This Autumn day's noon at our calm pond... lunch time.


feeders
swan tails point to the sun
water rings

Memory spurred, I went to the archives:


an eclipse
I watch the moon darken
last sip of tea

With the time change, our sunrise is an hour early; the morning's first seam of this new day.


early sunrise
above the tree limb stitches
this days hem

__I'll point out: "Spasms of Light," a collection of haiku, senryu, haibun and tanka, has recently been made available at amazon.com. This is the premier anthology produced by  Wonder Haiku Worlds, and among the "Spasms of Light" contributors... there are many, of whom you will know.  

__The fly-over 11-4-11 @ 1810


cold night
the space stations fly-over
a moments streak

Just an unseen, unheard echo... to Devika's most recent and heartful haibun. _m


white hair
matching this frosty morning
wise footsteps 

An echo comment I recently left with a friend's post.


a final leaf
whispers to the ground
the snow falls

Opinions.
__My opinions are my tenets only and are never intended to be principles that others should follow, or cite as standards. I honor, and never reject the opinions of others.

Three of mine:
1, I believe both haiku and senryu, written in English, should follow the universally accepted structures, three lines of 5-7-5 syllables or less, simplicity the key;
2, Haiku should be centered in or around nature with that seasonal -hint-, and humans should be the seers, and/or be of minimal part... and not be the subject of that haiku;
3, Senryu, to me, should be of society, of politics, civility, of religion, the arts, or all-in-all a reflection of human nature, the seasonal hint, though not necessary, is applicable.

__I thank for your time and understanding... this then, the last senryu of the 2011 'Halloween Smiles.' _m



the door knock
gnomes and ghosts and fairytales  
these hello smiles

__We are supposed to -see- before scribble our haiku/senryu, but we can -see- through our imagination.


jack-o-lantern face
the sad pumpkin in this row
a burned out candle

Hocus-Pocus!
__First seen then, I posted this at Wonder Haiku Worlds in 2007, it alludes to 'time's change;'  in John McDonald's comment he translated this senryu into Scots, thanks again, John!


all hallow's eve
this ancient rite of mischief
a plastic mask

*
halloween
this auncient devilitrie
a plastic fause face

This, a season of slow color change.


read the trees
stories cling to each branch
the birds write

The float picking of cranberry bogs.


fog wanders
across a warmer bog
the lone crow

For tomorrow's full moon, 10/11/11... the Hunters Moon; this, from October 2010.


hunters moon
in this nights full light
flying squirrel

European settlers traveled west during the years of colonization, and this continent's native peoples were displaced, severely handled and ill regarded.  In this time of disuse, a phrase became common among the Native American clans, a metaphor perhaps, that referred to the reasonable... native mistrust of the settlers. 

__The owls spoke few words, and when they traveled away in that silence, they left little evidence of their having been.
__Geese talked loudly in false words and left behind in the echoes of that din, the soils of their existence. "The talking of evil birds."


we hear
the talking of evil birds
feathers on the wind

Here, the goldenrod, is now rich. As I watched these three
horse-carts run the trail that rims a nearby bog, this thought came. A sneeze?



goldenrod
borders this horse-cart trail
the roan snorts

Seasons end like sunsets; the Catbirds have flown. _m


days close
words that cross this silent pond
birds fly south

Soon; this from late last Septober, or perhaps it was Octember_?


yellow leaves
float down this tired river
three ducks

Quick home, to face the potential wind and rain. This, a recent comment I left at TALON; summer swinging at night.


ropes squeek
the swing climbs higher
counting stars

Hello friends... another "quick home."
__With all due respects to haiku masters both ancient and modern, and with a smile, is it plausible that haiku/senryu... are the forerunners of texting? The enticement of the terse?
__This pair, generated by the humming birds as they 'joust,' at their feeders.


joust
at the nectar feeder
pegasus

winged horse
his lance his beak
a rival 

"!BREAKING NEWS!"  
__That, now meaningless TV phrase, I'll use as a metaphor to say: "quickly home!"
__Below, a soft echo to Lorraine's most recent and fine post... as life regains itself. _m


bridges
crossing times rivers
infants

Quickly home.
In an early evening... rain.


days close
catbirds hunt in the briers
rhubarb rain

Our pond... last Saturday night.  


distant train
its whistle in this quiet
our moon floats

Quick home, but because of the heat, back to the pond!
__From time to time, I hang one of my Sunflower seed bird feeders, with a heavy rubber band. It doesn't bother the birds, but that bounce and spin sure bother the "seed stealers."  Has anyone ever seen a dizzy squirrel? No harm done... but comic!

dizzy squirrel
jumps from this spinning feeder
limb miss

__Tomorrow night, back to our pond, See you soon, friends.
Oooo. Which one to choose, which one to choose, which one... ?


bewildered bees
so many tiny blossoms
queen annes lace

 __For "Pete.".
__Kathy and I offer our best wishes to his wife Chris, his daughters Lisa and Erin, and too, to the extended families... as John Denver once sang, "the memories of love will see you through."


they wait
beyond this final door
old friends

__We may refer to them as "Wicked Winds,"  as in winter they drive their iciness  into our marrow; in the heat of the summer we see them as "Benevolent Breezes." How perceptions can change!     _m


swift breeze
across this summer pond
the pin-wheel spins

cool breeze
as birds frolic at their bath
a lost feather

__This is an echo I left at the -Past Tense- link; I've always been amused by the first drops of rain bursting into that dryness of a dirt pathway, each drop each raises a wee puff of dust, and then... a tiny crater remains. Soon its mud!


rain drops
in the pathways dust
craters