Tag: Haibun

a lotus blossoms (haibun)

(c) Jigsawgirl "Lotus" at Deviantart http://jigsawgirl.deviantart.com/
(c) Jigsawgirl “Lotus” at Deviantart

I love the story of how a lotus starts off.  Such a beautiful flower, appearing so delicate and yet it is so resilient.  This flower grows in ponds and lakes where water does not move much, hence it sprouts first under water in mud and murky water. Just as humans go through life facing loss, sadness, death, and dark moments, hopefully we become stronger and our mind is awakened, acquiring wisdom.  The lotus stems becomes stronger forming a bud that pushes its way to the light, above water and only then, free of dirt and mud, opens one petal at a time …just as humans open up to spiritual growth.  How fascinating!

In Buddhism the bud of the lotus represents potential. We have the potential to  spiritual growth  and  awakening,  and enlightenment. As the lotus flower emerges from the water clean,  this represents purity of body, speech, and mind…an awakened mind. *

murky waters breed
ignorance and bigotry
 lessons learned

knowledge stems growth
building strength and wisdom
seeking clarity

reaching for the sun
budding above water
a lotus blossoms

(c) Tournesol ’14

Carpe Diem Haiku Shuukan

paradise recalled (haibun)

What is paradise? Is it a place we pray and hope to reach some day? Is it a moment of total bliss, joy and exaltation? I think it depends on where you are in the cycle of your life and where you are in your life. If I were in a war zone, fearing the death of my children and grandchildren, paradise to me would be a safe refuge. A camp with enough food and shelter…safe from harm’s way would be paradise.

If I think of all the “Have’s” we have here…I have here, the luxuries, the comforts, the warmth and living without the threat on my life or my children, family, friends and country…I am really in paradise, non? And yet, we search and crave more.

Walking down the street to work and seeing the sun peak at me through the clouds, is not that a moment of grace? A rainbow an autumn evening in the city at rush hour, what a way to end a busy day…pedestrians looking up in exaltation…the smiles on their faces warm with delight and childlike wonder…those are moments of paradise.

Naive and innocent was I…we were such young newly weds, years later I remember thanking G-D for allowing couples to visit paradise in those intimate moments reaching nirvana.

My babies nursing and looking up at me with their huge baby blues, one hand gently stroking my cheek…paradise in all its splendour.

The soothing purring of my cat when I wake up from a nightmare, she has rescued me and brought me to a heavenly place…a moment of bliss.

To feel comforted, to be worry free, to reach your destination after driving in a blizzard…to arrive in a warm home, with a warm cup of tea…paradise.

I believe writing has allowed me to appreciate more, take note and savour more the moments that we are blessed with every day.

They are accumulations of moments too often missed…not stopping to relish, take a snapshot of those moments …it is the memory of those moments of bliss, paradise, that get me through the sullen moments. So, STOP, slow down, listen, bathe in it and store it forever in the attic of your brain.

(c) Clr '14
(c) Clr ’14

a fleeting moment
hark! you’ll miss it
paradise lost

genuine joy
souls joined in concert
paradise

at long last
barren mother hears bliss,
“It’s positive”

nursing my newborn
stares into my eyes,
lost in paradise

those first steps,
first time hearing “Mama”…
rise to Nana

sun and wind
commune with the lake
blissful sailing

intimate lovers
matching their rhythms
nirvana

muse murmuring,
writing poetic prose
paradise found

enticed by nectar
butterfly kissed buds
heavenly blossoms

echoes in biting cold (haibun)

WIN_20140127_083618 (3)
(c) Clr Snow Day – ’13

After a snowstorm, it is like walking on another planet. The sounds are varied…I don’t need my earbuds…the winter air provides a concert. Hearing the muffled sound walking through fresh powdery snow …30 cm or more. Along the way you hear a flop and look around to see the weight of the snow on pine tree, flop, flop falling to the ground.

Hearing a crunchy sound on spongy snowy surface…makes you want to stop…when my children were little, I would lie on my back on the snow and wave my outstretched arms…we had made our first snow angels on this soft fluffy snow.

If it is warmer weather, the snow will be sticky and heavy…wonderful time to make a snowman or two or nice big fort!

Last winter we had such bitter cold days, not that much snow…well, for our standards in Quebec but the cold…brrrrr… the loud echoes of crunch crunch when walking is so vivid…I love that sound walking home late at night. It keeps me company walking alone.  Wrapped in layers starting with cotton long johns, gloves covered with mitts, lamb lined boots, topped with duvet lined coat, my pilot hat, over a ski mask the air too cold to breath, cheeks prickling from the biting cold. Greeting other pedestrians and we can only see each other’s eyes, masked for warmth.

Of course I cannot, not mention, the unnatural sound but still, the sound that lulls me to sleep or puts me in a mellow mood, the concerto of snow plows part of the night across the street from my home is a huge shopping mall. And then the thundering boom of the road snow ploughs clearing the roads for morning traffic.

ice draped branches
shimmer with radiant glow
moonbeams

crunch echoes in biting cold
warm breath forms cloud puffs

whiff of burning pine
recalling romantic evenings
roar of busy ploughs

(c) Tournesol ’14

Carpe Diem Ghost Writer

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

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

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

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

safe at night (haibun)

CLR 2014
CLR 2014

When I was very young before I even went to school, I remember making a space in my bed for my guardian angel.  I just believed there was someone special because my mother told me so. Those were years when it was quite turbulent at home with my father when he was inebriated.  I believe moving over in bed to keep that space available for my angel made me feel safe.

When I was six my GrandPapa died.  I have spoken many times about my maternal grandfather. I was living with him the year he was dying.  After he died, I never made room in my bed for my guardian angel for I always believed GrandPapa was always with me.  I would cram for exams at the last minute too many times and just before the test, I would ask my grandfather to help me remember the answers. All through elementary school, I would close my eyes at difficult questions and see the spot on the page in my science , history or geography book…I believed GrandPapa sent me cheat sheets because so many times I did not study enough in those earlier years.

When there was thunder and lightening, I was always very scared. GrandMaman would be so calm and look out the window at the lightening.  She would comfort me by telling me that GrandPapa was bowling up in heaven and that was the sound of the thunder.  He was playing for money, she said, which he would send her.  Perhaps she was trying to explain that her widow’s pension came from him.

I have a fan club up in heaven now, with many other relatives. But I always feel my grandfather is looking out for me and still pray or chant visualizing the face of my grandfather.

child in the night
felt a nudge and made room,
guardian angel

snow kissed cheek
wind whispers his presence
guardian angel

message from heaven
first snow covers the ground
guardian angel

© Tournesol ’14

Carpe Diem