Posts Tagged ‘ haibun ’

Hedge Sparrows | Burn The Water

My work has often seen me walk and write symbiotically with William Wordsworth. I’m suddenly jolted back into that relationship with the realisation that all the roads around here, an housing estate in Dronfield Woodhouse, are named after places in The Lake District and that everyday I walk this road, Grasmere Road. Grasmere the birth and burial place of the great poet.

Here are some lines he wrote by Grasmere Lake in 1806:

CLOUDS, lingering yet, extend in solid bars
Through the grey west; and lo! these waters, steeled
By breezeless air to smoothest polish, yield
A vivid repetition of the stars;
Jove, Venus, and the ruddy crest of Mars
Amid his fellows beauteously revealed
At happy distance from earth’s groaning field,
Where ruthless mortals wage incessant wars.
Is it a mirror?–or the nether Sphere
Opening to view the abyss in which she feeds
Her own calm fires?–But list! a voice is near;
Great Pan himself low-whispering through the reeds, ‘Be thankful, thou; for, if unholy deeds
Ravage the world, tranquillity is here!’

William Wordsworth
Grasmere Lake
1806

And I walk on. Four times a day. I travel the edges. The between ways. Sometimes crossing the borders other times sticking close by them but remaining to one side. Trying to make sense of, to know this place and that and mine too.

a car alarm
suddenly stops
hedge sparrows

Paul Conneally
Dronfield Woodhouse
December 31st 2019

Source: Hedge Sparrows | Burn The Water

Daily Haiku: Dec. 22, 2019 | Charlotte Digregorio’s Writer’s Blog

grazing reindeer
the girl in emo jeans
and purple hair
 
by Alan Summers  (UK)
From “The Wonder Room” haibun
Red River Book of Haibun, November 2019

Source: Daily Haiku: Dec. 22, 2019 | Charlotte Digregorio’s Writer’s Blog

Talk of Sleet | Burn The Water

Walking the edges after rain after rain. I meet the Happy Panda. A Chinese takeaway in Dronfield Woodhouse. I’ve passed it many times but never when open. One man is inside ordering his food by numbers. I like the way the bog standard orange signage is caught in reflection. I don’t go in. It’s hard to believe but my 85 year old mother has never had a Chinese takeaway meal but there’s still time.

talk of sleet
the smell of chicken chow mein
sits behind my eyes

Paul Conneally
Dronfield Woodhouse
12th December 2019

Source: Talk of Sleet | Burn The Water

November Sky | Icebox

November Sky

November sky
Quite as blue as over
April’s blossoms

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My partner and I have been together for over a decade. For several years now, this has been a miracle that, like most miracles, has come to seem everyday.

Yawning blue I
Never tire of you, oh,
Tire not of me

Source: November Sky | Icebox

noise & silence – “insert poetry everywhere anywhere here.” a poem by Donna Fleischer

insert poetry everywhere anywhere here.
by Donna Fleischer

Bar-do teachings say when the dead person walks into the sun, she sees no shadow;

when she looks into a mirror she sees no reflection; when she steps out of the stream

she has no footprints. In this way she learns that she is dead

continued at  Source: noise & silence

A Classic Collection of Loss and Resilience: Deflection by Roberta Beary | Charlotte Digregorio’s Writer’s Blog

autumn coolness enters a hand long held in mine

 

Roberta Beary
from Deflection, 2015

 

Source: A Classic Collection of Loss and Resilience: Deflection by Roberta Beary | Charlotte Digregorio’s Writer’s Blog

Strawberries and Cream | Burn The Water

 

We move into the spring bank holiday with sunshine. The smell of barbecue drifts garden to garden. I hang the washing out even though I know that my shirts will take on the smell of grilled chicken, beef burgers, smoke. A child is playing ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ on a violin. Pushing its weave into my back our rattan chair creaks.

the painted lady
on my arm flexes its wings
strawberries and cream

Paul Conneally

Source: Strawberries and Cream | Burn The Water