Where do babies come from?(haibun)

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I had stopped working six weeks prior to giving birth. The six weeks at home with my son was a nice transition before his sister arrived. He would lean on my huge tummy and asked me earlier on in the pregnancy how the baby got there. He was only 2 and a half. I knew you could tell children the truth about many things and they would retain what they could grasp…make it simple, I was often told. And so I told him that Daddy had a seed that he gave to Mommy to make the baby grow in my womb (tummy). “How did it get there?” he asked. I explained that Mommy and Daddy kissed and hugged each other very tightly. He seemed to be satisfied with that.

Two years later my step-father had passed and my son felt sorry for my mother being alone. “Nanny,” he started, “You should have a baby so you won’t be so lonely.” She explained that she had to have a husband to have a baby. He responded, “Well, I could give you my seed from my testicle and you could swallow it and then you would have a baby.” My mother was SHOCKED but we always got a kick out of that cute story of pure kindness and innocence.

seeding
pure and natural
lovers kiss

© Tournesol ’15

MLMM – Heeding Haiku with HA

flowers or snow (haibun)

(c) Clr '15
(c) Clr ’15

This should be fun although  I love both kigo words  snowflakes representing weather my part of the world and the sunflowers being admired by my Aussie friends….lucky Sandy, Jen and Michael, I will write on both.

Snowflakes are pretty but when they stick to your lashes and the cold wind makes my eyes weep, well, it’s a dangerous combination, that’s all I’m saying.   Tonight I walked home in the bitter cold at minus 27 C and who knows with the wind chill…I was prepared with extra warm socks in sheep skin lined boots (Saute Mouton), layers of wool sweaters under my warm coat,  Gortex glove and mittens, cagoule under pilot hat and eternity mohair scarf…but my cagoule kept slipping leaving my face exposed to the frigid air.

snowflakes

on my lashes blind me

slipped on ice

*

frostbitten cheeks

snowflakes adorn the trees

fancy a sunburn

The sky was clear tonight with the odd cloud splashed here and there on that navy canvas and I knew it was the last night to savour this full moon.  I had to take a glove off my right hand to take a few photos with my smartphone since it works only with the heat of a hand….click, click until I could no longer feel my fingers…that was my warning to head into the warmth.  It was so worth the cold hand. The moon smiling down on me was as if my mom was somewhere nearby.

  *******************************

This summer I hope to take more advantage of just relaxing and reading outdoors.  I tend to carry my tablet everywhere to write….but by a lake or pond would be  a nice change.  I look forward to that, and sitting a garden of daisies or sunflowers…or both!

 copy-sunflower-logo1.jpg

summer read

sitting  by the pond

sunflowers grow

*

sunflowers

become a part of me

 nom de plume

(c) Tournesol’15

MindLoveMiserysMenagerie with Heeding Haiku with HA

new bond (haibun)

It was beautiful to see the patience a young child can have despite his age, his anticipation and yet, he managed it with eloquence. For a few years he would be so happy to see my cat at home so he could pet her, hold her and perhaps even play with her. The attempts were always short-lived and he would leave discouraged, certain that this picky feline did not like him. Try as I might to explain her fickleness was part of her personality and that in time if she saw him more often, she would certainly come around. And come around she did this week.

© Clr ’14 Bette and my grandson

Since he slept in “her” spot, I was actually surprised that she was drawn to him instead of being jealous but no, she totally drew closer and his patience certainly paid off. To see him beaming when he started petting her…that she allowed him to even touch her was magical to see.

Patiently waits,
human-animal bond
first calm

© Tournesol ’14

MindLoveMiserysMenagerie – Heeding Haiku with HA – New Year

Hark the Herald Angels Sing (essence + shadorma)

© William Adolphe Bouguereau Song of the Angels (1881)

(an essence )
peace on earth’s everything
cheer the birth, new-born king

pure of heart, Prince of kind
plays a part with you in mind

filled with mirth, rejoicing
peace on earth’s everything.

(shadorma)
angels hail,
Prince of peace is born
cleanse your souls
open hearts
renew your vows of kindness
compassion triumphs.

© Tournesol ’14

We have the option of writing a Shadorma (a non-rhyming six-line poem with a syllable count of 3/5/3/3/7/5) – or an Essence created by Emily Romano.

An “Essence” consists of two lines of six syllables each. There is an end rhyme (rhyme at the end of the line) and an internal rhyme (rhyme in the middle of the line).

BJ Shadorma and Beyond at MindLovemiserysMenagerie

Flash mob concerts always make me weep, they’re so beautiful!

angling (choka)

fisherman_small
Bastet`s Library

rocking on water
wobble on old St Lawrence

tremble with north winds
still, push forth on this journey

angling trout and pike,
a rare catch this time of year

wobble, swaddle, rock
feel a need to be out here

pikes biting blindly
frigid waters skew their view

holding rod in wait
the wind blows, eyes well in tears

my boat keeps rocking
whispering tale or two

this cold skews my mind
shaking such thoughts free, I trawl

embracing my life
know now, certainties are naught

shadow squirms below
a pike! first catch of the day

wiggles to get free
smile at my startling game

trust life’s mysteries
unexpected brings such joy

time to moor safely
catch the riverside sunset
ends sublimely my journey

(c) Clr '14 Sunset on the St Lawrence
(c) Clr ’14 Sunset on the St Lawrence

(c) Tournesol ’14

Mindlovemisery`smenagerie BJShadorma and beyond

mask of neutrality (tanka)

http://wpmedia.news.nationalpost.com/2013/09/signs.jpg

men and women
stripped of their human rights
heads must be bare
government jobs lost,
cow behind neutrality

© Tournesol ’14

To read more: National Post

Prompt: Heeding Haiku with Ha – Human Rights

the world just watches (tanka)

Vicious assaults
rarely admonished
hushed cries
breath only  despair
women and children

© Tournesol `14

Heeding Haiku with Ha

Road Trip (sedoka)

When I lived in Toronto the first few years, I would drive down to my home in Quebec which was a 6 hour drive. Leaving in the morning driving east, I would follow the sun all the way to Montreal. They were long trips alone, so singing with the radio blaring was the only way to stay alert.

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(c) Clr ’14

single girl road trip
driving back to the country
winter wind at my back

chasing golden sun
singing old high school songs
on that long lonely highway

(c) Tournesol ’14

BJ Shadorma & Beyond at MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie

North Star (haibun)

November is often a dark morbid month for me. I find I have to get accustomed to the lack of warmth as well as the loss of colours, bare trees and shorter days announce more darkness. All seem so desolate and depressing. But then winds pick up, cool the air so much, clouds once heavy with rain turn into lovely snowflakes.

Soon the earth will be covered in carpets of white; I don`t feel the sunset at four so discouraging now for the snow gives light. It is pleasant walking on the snow covered ground, hearing the crunch of my boots on the spongy snow. We are less than one month before Christmas and now, finally, I am getting into the spirit of the holidays…Christmas meaning so much more than gifts and decorations but the spirit of a rebirth and giving; the sharing of love and warmth among friends and family.

winter stroll
looks up at the milky way
snowflakes on her lips

***
Christmas Eve
sylphs gather in concert
shaping snow sculptures
scheduled with the North Star
welcoming the messiah

(c) Tournesol ’14

Heeding Haiku with HA at MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie

a lost race (cherita)

© Clr ’14 Ghost Bike – Montreal

cycling

at the break of dawn
beware of the traffic

cycling through the viaduct
competing for space
a cyclist lost the race

~~~

loss of a cyclist

a sister mourns her sister
a mother mourns her daughter

a city of cyclists and citizens
form a vigil for Mathilde Blais
a ghost bike hung in memory

© Tournesol ’14

Montreal Gazette:  Death of a Cyclist

Written for BJ’s Shadorma and Beyond at MindlovemiserysMenagerie