Category: CARPE DIEM HAIKU KAI
Fallen leaf (haibun)
Check my latest post on my Blogspot, Fallen Leaf (haibun) at Tournesol dans un Jardin
A story and haiku both written in English and in French.
Couples (Carpe Diem – Tan Renga Challenge #47 “How rare the sight”
This prompt is a tan renga challenge. Our host, Chèvrefeuille at Carpe Diem Haiku Kai, has chosen a haiku written by Magical Mystical Teacher (MMT).
It was her response on this haiku by Basho:
how rare!
on leaving the mountain
the first eggplant
MMT’s response haiku was the following:
how rare the sight—
yellow blossoms brushing
the sky with light
© MMT
now we are to write a tan renga two lines of 7 syllables to this haiku. Our host`s tan renga is here:
how rare the sight—
yellow blossoms brushing
the sky with light (MMT)
I always will love her
underneath the Laburnum (Chèvrefeuille)
I struggled with various responses because I had several images of “yellow blossoms” from my personal life. So I broke it down to two and here they are:
Across the street from the church at my hometown, there is a small garden by the river, with various flowers. I remember taking a picture in June of the lovely yellow lilies and wished I could come back later in the summer to catch the flora at its peak in blossoming. Well, I did not but here is snapshots from June.
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how rare the sight—
yellow blossoms brushing
the sky with light (MMT)
Across the church, newly weds
yellow lilies cheer them on.
(c) Tournesol ’14
Of course there are also lovely daisies and sun roots in my friend’s garden in Bromont facing several mountains. This is where we went to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary last Sunday. A huge tent was pitched next to the Willow tree…what a lovely day celebrating such a lovely couple. To this day, I have never met a loving couple like these two people. You can feel the love they share. They still cuddle and always hold hands sitting close together.
how rare the sight—
yellow blossoms brushing
the sky with light (MMT)
Underneath the Willow tree
sun roots scan the mountains.
(c) Tournesol ’14
Originally posted at Tournesol dans un Jardin
Carpe Diem Tan Renga Challenge #47, MMT’s “how rare the sight”
Sun bows (haiga)
Carpe Diem Special #102, Jim Kacian’s 3rd “falling leaves”
falling leaves
the house comes
out of the wood
© Jim Kacian
Our host writes:flowers of ice
on the window melting in the sun –
“look dad! it snows!”
© Chèvrefeuille
sun bows
into the horizon,
hush! baby sleeps
© Tournesol
Posted by Cheryl-Lynn Roberts, 2014/08/16
Growing up (haibun)
From my Tournesol dans un jardin blog
Our host at Carpe Diem Haiku Kai has given us the Prompt “wings” and gave us a few quotes from Khalil Gibran in Sand and Foam. However, when I think of wings there are several meanings that come to mind. This morning I saw a haiku by MarkM Redfearn for this prompt. I did not know it was an offering to this prompt at the time, but his haiku inspired me to write something about children, war and wings at “Do not weep for me” But after reading several times our host’s prompt I am reminded of two situations.
I like how our host describes how amazing it would be to fly and visit the world, look down at our planet from above. That would be so cool! As children we believe that some humans can actually fly. My son certainly did believe in Superman when he was only two and a half. I was almost nine months pregnant with his little sister and I had gone into the house for a moment to check something on the stove. We lived in the country and my son had been playing in the sandbox when I had gone in. When I came out to join him in the backyard, my neighbor came rushing to me out of breath. My son had climbed the metal tower for the television antennae and was on the roof of my neighbour’s house. He was singing the intro song of the show “Superman”. I called up to him and told him to wait for mommy to join him, but my tummy was too big to manage the climb. Another neighbour’s teenager went up for me. My son believed he could fly…Dear Lord, I was so grateful he had not jumped!
it’s a bird
it’s a plane
it’s superman
So when we talk about flying, that story always comes to mind.
My mother and I are very very close. Growing up I always felt connected and even after I married (still young at 19) that bond was still very strong. In fact, I remember at 22, we had moved about a thirty minute drive from her and I experienced separation anxiety for a year. Well, not like a child, but I had developed pain in my shoulder for a long time and a rheumatologist had told me to figure out what had changed in my life in the past few months and that that was the root of my pain. I was quite insulted of his insinuation that it was psychosomatic but he was right. The pain went away on its own several months later.
Growing up as a teenager, I had never really rebelled or given my mother a difficult time like many teenagers naturally do. My parents had divorced when I was a teen and I felt even closer to my mother, wanting to protect her and take care of her. It was when my own marriage ended, 24 years later, I moved 6 hours away from home to start a new life and a new career. That was the first time I had actually cut the umbilical cord…really! Indeed, at 40 something, I was finally spreading my own wings and becoming an independent woman. I was definitely a late bloomer but better late than never, right? I could not help but choose a photo of a dove to represent my moving on with my life. In this case we are talking about separating from my mother, Colombe (which means dove)
Dove Flying in Sky
growing pains
sever symbiosis
spread your wings
© Tournesol
Submittted for: Carpe Diem#540, Wings
Posted by Cheryl-Lynn Roberts, 2014/08/16
Trees (haiga)
Today’s Haiku posted at Blogspot
Today’s haiku posted on my blogspot blog, Tournesol Dans un jardin are here.
Winter Shelters (haibun)
Today the prompt is “forest” at Carpe Diem Haiku Kai. Here is a beautiful haiku by our host of Carpe Diem:
listen to the wind
that moves through the forests –
buzzing mosquitos
© Chèvrefeuille
I was trying to remember times I was deep in a forest besides camping. Then I recalled times when I used to cross country ski in the mountains…not huge ones, mind you…more hills…Mount St Bruno was such a lovely place to hike, snow shoe and ski. It has alpine skiing too even if it is a tiny mountain; it is lit up atnight and only 15 minutes from downtown Montreal. So that`s pretty cool.
My favourite place to cross country was in Rougemont, where my son actually lives now. You go up up up for a long time. But you do get in the forest quick enough and can shed a few layers of sweaters under that winter wind breaker. It is a great place to just sit and admire the scenery. And once you get high enough, then you go down down down for a long time…lt is not too steep so the descent is really lovely.
Cross country
against strong winds
forest shelters
(c) Tournesol ’14-08-08
Dynastie des grand-mères (haibun) (CP #534 Ancestors)
The prompt today is Ancestors at Carpe Diem and again Chèvrefeuille quotes a passage from Sand and Fom by Khalil Gibran.
{…} “Remembrance is a form of meeting”. {…}
Chèvrefeuille goes on to say that ancestors are a part of us. They are in our genes and will always be with us. They are in our mind and heart. They are part of us.
at the jumble sale
the photo of someone’s grandma,
she smiles at me
© Chèvrefeuille
Dynastie des grand-mères
Ten years ago between Christmas and New Year’s my dad was rushed to the hospital for the last time. He had been sick for over two years. Having him phone me multiple times past midnight with belaboured breath was a common occurrence but as soon as I would drive up to his apartment forty minutes later, he would be sitting at his desk, heaving, yet, pleading that I not call 911. I had called once and they came for several minutes, saw my father’s pleading face with tears, so scared they would take him away . then they explained to me he was lucid and they had to respect his wishes.
That night Christmas week, he fell on the floor, unconscious and a neighbour called 911. It was only a few days before he was in a coma and my daughter announced she was expecting a baby. I knew…felt in my heart, she was carrying a boy. My father did January 3rd, 2004.
My daughter was living with me at the time in Toronto and she invited me to her monthly appointment to see her gynecologist. I was so excited, walking in with her to Women’s College Hospital, a ten minute walk to our respective jobs. {yes, I was lucky that she even worked downtown next to my work!}
The doctor put the monitor on her belly and we could hear a loud quick heartbeat. My whole being tingled and I wept with joy, at my grandchild’s heart beating. Later she gave me a snapshot of the ultrasound and it is the first photo in the baby album…well, after I had kept it on my fridge door for months, that is! Nanas have more brag rights than mothers and fathers.
His Tiny-Ness swimming,
in my daughter’s womb/
felt Dad beam
© Tournesol
For those who have read earlier stories of my grandmother, know that she was a midwife and I was born in her house/bed. Lucky me! She was the same age I was when my daughter gave birth to my grandson. I was her labour coach…I felt GrandMaman’s presence so much with me during her long hours of labour.
Being with my daughter, I was filled with so many images, memories and visions of the past. It was like a book where one chapter is the present, the next chapter rewinds back to the past and the next chapter resumes to the present. It was such a powerful experience so difficult to express. For years when describing the birth of my grandson, I never had a chance to describe much before I would break down crying. It has been a few years now that I can manage to hold my own… well better.
If I were an artist I would have painted a portrait of a woman giving birth with shadows forward of another mother giving birth…I sketched it once but I am SO not an artist.
I kept shifting in time, from the birth of my daughter and son…the newness of giving birth to my son, the fear and worry; the anticipation of being induced with my daughter and wondering if I was having another son or a daughter . {No, I never wanted to know…I felt the curiosity may give me more incentive to push with more drive. The first thing I noticed alone with my baby girl, stripping off her nightie, diapers and tiny socks…examining every centimetre and thinking, “She will go through this same labour mixed with joy someday too.”
My grandmother was the same age I was when I became a grandmother; after her long illness of dementia and her death, I had not felt close to her; I missed her and somehow, I felt much closer to her since my grandson`s birth…closer than I had ever felt since her death
presence felt
she gave me a grandson/
GrandMaman.
© Tournesol
Childhood scents (haibun)
I knew I was going to be a smoker eventually. When I was very young, sitting in the back seat of my father’s car, I couldn’t wait to have him light that first cigarette. The sweet scent of tobacco at just the first puff. (No worries I quit smoking a while ago)
Chevy Impala
red leather seats
Sweet Caporal
In the summer my mother was so busy hairdressing we would go swimming at the local pool. The river was reserved ONLY when adults were around. The pool was not the same, opening your eyes under water was such a habit in lakes and rivers but boy did it burn the eyes in the pool and the smell was so strong. It smelled like GrandMaman’s laundry room when she had to soak sheets for a long time to get them white.
blue water,
cement floor
laundry scents
When I was ten, we started camping, mostly close by weekends in Vermont but for vacation, we would head out every year to Old Orchard, Maine. The owner of a huge camp ground was friends with my parents and less than a mile from the ocean. I keep thinking of lobsters and steamed clams dipped in melted butter eating at the picnic table.
pine needles,
oil lantern heats the tent
salt water air.
GrandMaman had a huge vegetable garden not counting the flower beds. August until end of September was canning and pickling time for all her produce. The kitchen was always busy. I still don`t know how she managed to keep borders at her house, cook, clean, garden and still be a midwife. She had to stay busy to support herself since GrandPapa passed when I was 6.
hot stove and veggies
chez GrandMaman
vinegar stings
She often got a phone call late in the evening and I would often cry and plead with her not to go. She would wash, put baby powder as her choice of a midwife’s cologne…makes sense now that I think about it. She then put on her white uniform, white nylons and white “sensible” shoes.
Ivory soap
traces of pressed uniform,
baby powder lingers
My mother was a hairstylist and I grew up with our living room converted into a beauty salon. Still today, the lull of a hair dryer makes me sleepy, the smell of hair spray, permanent and hair dyes brings me back to the 1960’s. I still ask my hairdresser now and then if I can sweep the floor; brings me back to my youth and my chores.
shampoo, peroxide
hair spray, conditioners
hair dryer lulls
Of course when my mom would get ready to go out I knew she was going to be out late when she put on her make up, curling those eyelashes, painting her lips, fluffed her natural curly hair with her fingers…but that last touch…Youth Dew scent, that blue bottle…always put on too much…she loved perfumes!
lips tattoo my cheeks
softness of her creamed hands,
Youth Dew idles
(c) Tournesol ’14-08-06
Submitted for: Carpe Diem Ghost Writer 20 The Scent of Poetry
Same post can be found at Blogspot – Tournesol dans un jardin
Tournesol dans un Jardin 
