Posts Tagged ‘ haibun ’

Why we need an absence of noise to hear anything important | Aeon Essays

Wild geese in Prospect Park, Brooklyn, New York City, USA, 2017. Photo by Rebecca Norris Webb from the book Brooklyn, the City Within with Alex Webb/Magnum Photos

Our cities are filled by the hubbub of human-made noise. Where shall we find the quietness we need to nurture our spirit?

Source: Why we need an absence of noise to hear anything important | Aeon Essays

Undertow

 

Mid-July morning rain falls clapping among oak leaves. Woodpeckers queue on tree bark for suet cake in view. black cat cries. Watching from inside he cannot help himself. Twitterings, chirpings, staccato rasps, glissando uproar

 

highway drones

through morning birdsong

mournful undertow

 

Donna Fleischer
indra’s net, bottle rockets press, 2003

2020
03/01
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Concrete Henge by Night | Burn The Water

‘Concrete Henge by Night’ by Paul Conneally
January 2020
Dronfield, UK

Concrete Henge is a special place for me. Well, a place. It forms the supports for the Dronfield Unstone Bypass just outside Dronfield town, more like a village, centre. In a time yet to come future civilisations will marvel at the sunrise and sunset falling across these huge concrete structures, in particular the ones towards the centre of the span where on certain days certain alignments of concrete and shadows present themselves. Some will bow down in reverence, mainly because it makes them feel good to do so. The heavens will chuckle a little and their audience now captive bring on the clouds with a little light rain thrown in for good measure. People will still buy ice creams after all this is England.

At night the Henge takes on a different feel. Hazy, blurry, even on clear night.

disarming fog
every streetlight
a full moon

Paul Conneally

Source: Concrete Henge by Night | Burn The Water

2020
01/26
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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

2019
12/31
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Daily Haiku: Dec. 22, 2019 | Charlotte Digregorio’s Writer’s Blog

Posted on December 21, 2019by
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

2019
12/22
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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

2019
12/13
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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

2019
11/29
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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

2019
10/25
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Donna Fleischer Poet of indra's net

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in fairness ~

All poems and texts on this site are copyright of the author(s) and should not be used or reproduced in any form without consent, yet ~
keeping in mind the words of the poet Pierre Joris, ". . . I make the arrogant claim that the poet is possibly the last, in Robert Kelly’s words, ‘scientist of the whole… to whom all data whatsoever are of use.’ . . . The prerogative of the poet is to steal directly whatever is of use, without needing to theoretically kowtow via analysis, explicatio, critical cloning or proof of pc allegiance."

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word pond by Donna Fleischer is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at donnafleischer.wordpress.com.
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