montgolfière (haibun)

Photo: Hot Air Balloon Shadow by Snupi2001 @ Deviantart.com
Photo: Hot Air Balloon Shadow by Snupi2001 @ Deviantart.com

Every August there is a festival of hot air balloons in Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, called Festival International de Montgolfières. The first hot air balloon was developed by the brothers, Michel Montgolfier and Jacques Eitienne Montgolphier from Annonay, France, in 1782.*

Our family lived near this St- Jean. Hot air balloons depend mostly on calmer winds, 10 miles an hour or less. Therefore just after dawn or late afternoons near dusk generally have less wind speed.  We would sometimes see a shadow cast over the field behind our house during dinner just before sunset.

It is always a thrill to see them up in the air when they take off as a fleet with the varied burst of colours in the sky. Last year I stopped on the highway to look at five balloons floating over Mont St-Grégoire. Such a calming effect when they float over you and you can hear only the puffs of air blowing into the fabric of the balloon.

 In this prompt of Heeding Haiku with HA at MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie, we are given two words, chestnut (autumn) and balloon (spring). What came to mind was the festival a month before autumn. August is considered early autumn.

L’ombre d’une montgolfière

plane au vent doux du mois d’août

mulot fuit le chat

© Tournesol ’14

August wind casts

shadow of a hot air balloon

mouse dodged the cat

© Tournesol ’14

 * History of le mongolfière

child in me (tan renga)

bright autumn moon
bare branches moving like arms –
the first snow © Yozakura

© Clr '14
© Clr ’14

bright autumn moon
bare branches moving like arms –
the first snow  

dream of making snow angels
awakens the child in me

© Tournesol ’14

Carpe Diem

poachers (haiku)

fiery outburst
notoriuous for
a mother bear


poachers slyly
lure her cub with honey
in their van

in their van
through rough roads to sell the cub
nearby toxic zoo

© Tournesol ’14

3WW – Fiery, Notorius, Toxic

escape (haiku)

There are several ways to escape from the rat race, busy days and worries.  Depending on what time I have available will determine what I do.  Speed walking, cycling or sitting by the lake, the river or allowing the river rapids to drown my thoughts and worries away, they all can do wonders, the latter is my favourite.

One does not always have the time or opportunity to get out, however, nor does the climate permit this.  But, I can always depend on music. And that is what I am doing tonight at my work break…no problems on my mind…just me and ivory keys.

relaxed heartbeat

ripple of ivory

my sanctuary

© Tournesol ’14

brush strokes (haiga)

© Clr ’14
© Clr ’14
© Clr ’14
© Clr ’14

light of setting star
brush strokes blend
on blue canvas

passionate artist
showers radiance
on blue canvas

artist cleans his brush
sky blends into twilight
lovers’ in the night

© Tournesol ’19-03-2

cold bedding (haibun)

Confused bush by unrulerly @Deviantart
Confused bush by unrulerly @Deviantart

Ten days passed since I had been to work, and since I had marched on that footpath…my shortcut to work.  Today I walked through the bush on this cold sunny day, slipping on the icy patches mourning the dormant shrubs…all I could see now, were patches of brown leaves and branches hugging the snow surface.  I did not take a photo of this new image. No, looking around at the huge change, I needed to mourn the life trampled on by heavy wet snow. Tomorrow will be another day…then, and only then, perhaps shall I photograph  this newly treacherous footpath.

sluggish bushes
disheveled on white
cold sheets

© Tournesol ’14

Haiku Horizons “cold”

dawn ascends (haibun)

Last night we experience strong winds and in the middle of the night it kept me awake. Tossing and turning, my mind was composing a poem, so I decided to write a poem which I posted entitled “Awaiting dawn”.

 
intermittent flash
signs of ill-health
power lines crash
eminent for sure
if these gusts continue
chorus of howls
like military troops
haunting yowls
beyond depths of
eternity
blow blow
blow wind blow
keep me awake
all night long
visions of buildings
crashing, floating,
hiding for cover
broken wail sounds
blow, blow
blow wind blow
you’ve not won
in destroying my home
power’s still on
I’m safe, I am warm
then why do I fidget
why can I not rest
in the dead of this night
blow blow
blow wind blow
the chorus has grown
no longer wind sound
but high giant waves
like tsunami like moan
blow blow
blow wind blow
fear not
I stand guard
awake thru the night
fear not
I stand guard
‘till the sun
shows its face gold
I shall wait for this dawn
neither tired or cold
I shall wait a bit longer
eyes open, alert
breathing slow , belaboured
suppressing a yawn.

© Clr’14

 It is interesting how strong winds seem more frightening in the night and yet in the day would it not be more dangerous?  I remember walking to bus some mornings on wind days and I felt pushed forward…and I am not a skinny person!  I hate to see young children waiting for a bus how scary that might be or crossing a busy intersection…yikes!

In any event, I wrote this poem not really thinking the wind would die down but I knew at the break of day I would not be so frightened.  At six am. I took my shower, while coffee was brewing and had not thought of the wind for I was preparing for appointments today.

Sitting down to check my email, I noticed the only sound I could hear were the cars on the boulevard in front of my apartment driving towards the bridge to get to work.  I am including two haiku to complete last night.  I think the second one is better but the first was my first thought…what do you think?

© Clr '14
© Clr ’14

new dawn
gusts sank beneath the skyline
sunshine smiles

or

dawn ascends
gusty winds expired,
forgiven cool breeze

© Tournesol ’14

la monnaie, spare change (haiku – tanka)

Our prompt today at Carpe Diem is Road Side Beggar (a haiku by Nana Fredua-Agyeman)
looking at the sun
for a silver coin –
roadside beggar

© Nana Fredua-Agyeman

our host has written keeping in the tone of Nana…

in front of the church
a beggar sleeps in his paper-box –
empty bottle of wine

© Chèvrefeuille

Here is my attempt thinking of our homeless people braving the cold on the streets of Montréal.

rush hour morn
wrapped in indifference
can’t see the beggar

stands in the cold,
chants: la monnaie-spare change,
merci, thank you
beggar holds the Métro door
extending his worn cap

(c) Tournesol ’14

dream of blossoms (haibun)

“IMAGINATION IS THE TRUE MAGIC CARPET”

~~ Norman Vincent Peale

I read this quote while visiting a new blog at Moon over Spumoni.   It spoke to me. Quotes do that to us, don’t they. You may have heard countless quotes, proverbs, prayers or poetry most of your life and then, for the second or thousandth time you read it and it actually draws you in.

Imagination is the true magic carpet…indeed!  Like the caring doctor at Cedar House Rules, read bedtime stories to the children at the orphanage,  bedtime snack feeding dreams on their magic carpet.

Can you imagine not being able to drift off to dream land when you were a child?  What if you were going through a difficult time in your life?  You are perhaps grieving the loss of dear pet and you are too young to grasp the concept of “forever”.  But you can imagine times you played with that pet, hugged him, shared your deepest secrets with him.   Perhaps it is the loss of friend or relative…be it through death or a long long absence, the  lack of his or her presence is heartfelt.  Nothing can fill the void…that darn emptiness can never be replaced BUT in time it will be healed by filling it with those memories you can imagine anytime you want and room for more amazing memories to bless your heart and your soul with joy.

Imagination is like nourishment…no medicine healing moments of despair. I see imagination synonymous to hope because it enables one to feel there is always hope.  Have you ever had a dream for a very long time? Have you ever had a dream realized to some extent it felt like déjà-vu?  Some will say, “Pinch me! I must be dreaming!”    That is how I see imagination related to hope. What would life be like without hope?  Without hope there is no faith, so little room for trust…

A hungry baby cries in the night and is nursed, however, unanswered cries in the night, a child no longer tries.

Imagination are not only the making of fairy tales but the remedy for the disheartened.

Monarchs in a garden
Monarchs in a garden

In springtime

butterflies in a garden

imagine blossoms

© Tournesol ‘14

winter symphony (haibun)

© Clr ’14

It is 22:35 and the building is quiet. Most folks are getting ready for bed for an early rise, children are sleeping and the only sound I hear is the muffled roar of snow plows. It is almost a humming sound to me. Last year I remember referring these melodies as my winter lullaby. These huge impressive machines usually run in the middle of the night when only nighthawks like me are up, night-shift workers, or mothers  nursing their baby.

To me it is a symphony of sorts for nighthawks. The scraping of the huge metal plow booms onto the snow covered pavement drumming and shaking the earth; the motor roars and hums pleasantly putting me in a mellow mood…feeling safe and comforted in the wee hours of the night.

massive metal

imposing,  yet gently

lulls my nature

© Tournesol ‘14