My Favorite Haiku from Long, Long Ago

Some of you may remember when the Haiku of the Day was a part of this blog.  That era has fizzled out, but I’ve compiled here some of my favorites.  They’re not necessarily the best or purist haiku, but the images they conjure and their personal meanings for me make them special.  I hope you enjoy revisiting these as much as I do 🙂

(3/25)   Whispers in the wind

Tales of the past spinning about

Etched in the leaves

 

(3/22)   Unable to reach out

Taking a plunge from the sky

Nest crashes down

 

(3/12)   Like lightning in the air

Galloping against the wind

Run forever

 

(2/7)   Lonely atmosphere

Asleep for the afternoon

Buzzing quietly

 

(1/9)   Wading through the thorns

Refuse to release their hold

Prickly old friends

 

(1/3)   Away away now

Warmth disappears in colors of fire

Horizon

 

(12/30)   A willow tree

Mourns the loss of her greenery

Beauty dead and gone

As I scrolled through the extensive collection of poems that I accumulated over the months, I noticed some key points.  Most of them relate somehow to nature, like traditional haiku.  I remember some days struggling to come up with some new element of nature I hadn’t used yet…some of the haiku were rough, to say the least.  However, they got significantly better through time.  Even though I don’t do HOD anymore, I’m pleased to say that it helped my grow as a writer and poet.  To those who supported me while I was doing this, thank you so much!  I really appreciate it.  These days I keep moving forward with new plans, but who knows?  Maybe I’ll revisit HOD for a time in the future!

Adopted Love

I know I already posted (a much-needed update) today, but I found this old fiction short piece and felt it belonged here.  Enjoy!

Adopted Love

The world rushed by in the form of a narrow hallway packed with people.  Everything blurred through Tezu’s tears.  He weaved through the faceless white coats to room 208.  Through the door and behind the curtain two white beds stood awkward yet belonging, vulnerable among machines.  Approaching the bed on the left side, Tezu sat carefully as not to disturb its sleeping occupant.  Jerry had never looked liken this before: so small and sick.  A machine measures his heartbeat, pulsing, dropping, repeating.  It told his life story.  Jerry had his ups and downs, but in the end nothing ever changed.  Pulse, drop, repeat.

Tezu reached for a tissue on the bedside table, pushing away “Get Well” cards, all apologetic, from his siblings who were studying abroad.  He knew they had no control over the situation, but with one parent already gone Tezu had thought Rachel and Dan would come.

Nose sniffling, tears flowing, Tezu gently grasped his adopted father’s hand.  He felt the wrinkles, baggy and smooth, that normally wouldn’t be there for another couple years.  He followed the pattern of his scrub up to his face and neck.  Tezu thought his father’s appearance reflected his age.  His grey beard was uneven, evidence he had been sleeping for some time.  His eyes and mouth looked warm even when he was asleep, his aura always active. Jerry was always smiling, but somehow never at Tezu.  Jerry’s breathing quickened, the heart monitor jumped, and the sick man awoke: Recovering, smiling, welcoming.