Haiku on Music


 

listless drift
metronomic mast sweeps
the sea’s mute tune

 

snapping flags
halyard and hook ting the pole
spastic anthem

 

creek burble
amid the cedars
stream unseen

 

cave echoes
nothing that moves by sight
avoids bumped head

 

empty bars
rarely known in nature
end robustly

DAILY PHOTO: Kashmiri Tarns

Taken in August of 2016 on the Sonamarg – Naranag Trail.

POEM: Orange Jelly Fungus

Its alien orange gleamed across a mid-winter forest.

The only thing — save shamrock green moss girding the base of trees — that begged attention in that silent, decaying woods.

Its globule nature desiccated into angularity,

adding to its alien claim,

and it shone with every orange a flame can throw.

The guide said you were edible,

but, seeing your flaming colors,

I could never convince myself that you wouldn’t taste of orange jelly enough to not spit you out on the ground.

Besides, I won’t say you’ve seen better days,

but you’ve seen less alien days.

WINTER FOREST HAIKU

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no birds, nor boar
not even a squirrel,
yet poop abounds


quiet forest
bare trees and thick carpet
decay time


mushrooms grow
in dense clusters on stumps
ringed in moss


earthen hues
far as an eye can see
but for moss green


so short the day
slantwise sunshine from
dawn to dusk

FOGGY HAIKU

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cloud fallen
resting on muddy ground
and limp dry grass


lulled to sleep
staring out a window
into the fog


faint edges
reality is swallowed
by the fog


foggy morn
black branch scribbles
in the gray


what shapes become,
edges softened and deformed,
fog monsters

POEM: Strange Rivers

Lest you think you know rivers —

just water meandering mountain to sea;

there are strange rivers in this world.

There’s a river in Cambodia, the Tonlé Sap, that yearly switches its direction.

The Okavango can’t be bothered to get to a sea, an ocean, or even a lake. Instead, it becomes a desert swamp — obstinately creating a thing one might be forgiven for thinking impossible.

There are blood red rivers and licorice black rivers.

There are rivers that take a holiday, and rivers that only show up for the 100 year flood.

There are rivers that look like they’re barely moving that can sweep a man to his death.

Rivers with dolphins. Rivers with fish too fat to swim. Rivers with creatures, Mesozoic-ugly.

A river in India, the Sarasvati, up and disappeared.

There are rivers that aren’t even rivers, but metaphors for that which we think eternal but which vanishes each instant to be replaced by a look-alike.

There are strange rivers.

Forest Haiku

winter forest
light of the rising sun
passes straight through

 

needle litter
carpeting the forest floor
copper clean

 

straight trunks
standing tall and tidy
lack character

 

spring brings blossoms
but how can the trees trust
spring sometimes lies

 

the gnarled tree
stunted and deformed
stands post-storm