Mezza Luna ~ haibun

Mezza Luna

I roll down these dark roads beneath a moon that gives no quarter. Even its half-light provides a beacon that offers comfort to one who is headed home. Given time, it will shine even brighter. But I will be home by then, my heart content, and I’ll be able to share its brilliance.

bare branches
reach for glowing orb
in darkness

 

This is my response to Haibun Monday 2-27-23: Mezza Luna,
the prompt from Frank Tassone at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.

Mezza Luna is Italian for the moon’s quarter phase, or half-moon.

Image: Moon 58% full at 9:00pm, 27 February 2023

Close to the Heart ~ haibun

Close to the Heart

Specialists tell me it’s not all there, my interatrial septum. Blood that should be routed to my lungs to be filtered can, instead, be passed through that barrier. Flow in one direction can cause oxygen-rich blood to join blood going to the lungs, overtaxing them. Flowing in the other direction, blood that needs to be filtered by the lungs will join blood destined for the brain, which can lead to mayhem.

More than sixty-five years of my life passed before this was discovered. By a stroke of luck, my one stroke was minor. When it passed through the hole in my heart, a tiny clot that could have come from any injury did reach my brain, but its effect was minor. The hole can be closed with surgery, but with a high risk of complications due to my age – so I accept this defect as a part of my whole.

sparrow drinks
from fresh fallen rain
leaving rings

This is my response to Haibun Monday 1/30/23: Heart

Per Wikipedia:

Atrial septal defect (ASD) is a congenital heart defect in which blood flows between the atria (upper chambers) of the heart. Some flow is a normal condition both pre-birth and immediately post-birth via the foramen ovale; however, when this does not naturally close after birth it is referred to as a patent (open) foramen ovale (PFO). It is common in patients with a congenital atrial septal aneurysm (ASA) – a bulging in the septum (or barrier) between the atria, which I also have.

Image
Detailed chambers of the heart & PFO illustration – © Mayo Clinic
(click image to see larger view in new tab)

Read another poem about my PFO here.

Leaves in the Wind ~ haibun

 

Leaves in the Wind

Leaves whisper among themselves, giving voice to the breeze that caresses them. They may speak of birth and the vitality they hold for just one season. Perhaps they speak of the fall dance that awaits them, when they dress in festive colors that shout to the world their exuberance even in their decline. They may move in unison, turn this way and that, shifting shades of green early on or shimmering in the subtle translucence of their late-in-life display, but once they lose their grasp it is the wind that determines their direction.

fallen leaves
rustle in the wind
chipmunks nest

This haibun is another take on the prompt at dVerse ~ Poets Pub,
Haibun Monday: aki no koe (Autumn’s Voice).
I’m sharing it with OpenLinkNight #327 at dVerse.

My first response is here.

Cloud of Fallen Leaves ~ haibun

Cloud of Fallen Leaves

Four hours of raking leaves into piles and another six hours of raking from the piles onto a tarp to be dragged to my compost pile in the corner of my yard means two days of yardwork, every year. Last year, I decided this old body needed some sort of relief, so I bought a gas-powered leaf blower. At twenty pounds, the backpack is not uncomfortable, and the leaves are blown into piles within ninety minutes. It may be a timesaver, but it still takes two days to move those leaves. I’ll be happy when they can finally be teleported.

cloud of fallen leaves
moves at high velocity
chipmunks on the run

This is my response to Haibun Monday: aki no koe (Autumn’s Voice),
the prompt from Linda Lee Lyburg at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.

The top image is my leaf pile, which fills to the top every year

This is just one quarter of my leaves
(And yes, chipmunks scattered from one pile as I started to rake it onto a tarp)

Warmth in September’s Chill ~ haibun

Warmth in September’s Chill

Days that were cool, but just as often warm, always led to cooler nights, and walking from the barn to the house through damp evening grass meant sitting by the wood burning stove to dry the cuffs of our jeans while waiting for dinner. It didn’t matter if they became wet again as we walked across the lawn later in the night, because it meant sitting by the open flames of the firepit, sometimes the highlight of our weekend visits, where they could dry once more. And if that meant we had the cool night air against our backs it also gave us a reason to stand and turn to warm that side as we gazed at the beauty overhead.

vast blanket of stars
blazing light in the night sky
timeless memories

This is my response to Haibun Monday: September Song,
the prompt from Xenia Tran at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.

Though miles and years apart from those visits to my parents’ country home,
the fire in the photo is from a recent family gathering
that I know my parents would have enjoyed greatly.

Weather Doesn’t Wait ~ haibun

Weather Doesn’t Wait

Thirteen times since early May, our weather has flirted with – no, made out with – temperatures of 90ºF or higher here in mid-Missouri. Since the beginning of the year, 83 days have had daily high temperatures that exceeded the normal range, with 4 record high temperatures set. All of this, while waiting for tomorrow’s start of summer.

weather doesn’t wait
for notes on a calendar
waiting for solstice

This is my response to Haibun Monday 6-20-22: Solstice,
the prompt from Frank Tassone at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.

Image: Black Shire Distillery, Hermann, Missouri 19 June 2022

Always in Our Hearts ~ haibun

Always in Our Hearts

Though some would call it midsummer, it’s just three days past solstice, and here we are celebrating the start of summer with a wedding on the shore of Lake Erie. There is as much poetry in the lighthouse towering above us, framed by beautiful blue skies as it waits to send to the world a signal of the joy that fills our hearts, and in the sound of the waves beckoning us as they have over the years, as there is in the vows that we share, the words that are spoken. Afterwards, there are words more solemn, spoken of our love for you and our sadness at your passing before you could be a vital part of this joyful day. We can feel your presence, as I know we will when we celebrate this day in the coming years.

great blue heron lands
watches from the shore
always in our hearts

This is my response to Haibun Monday 5-23-22: Summer,
the prompt from Frank Tassone at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.

Our wedding, a self-uniting ceremony held at the Presque Isle Lighthouse in Erie, Pennsylvania, was in June 2017. The ceremony consisted of poetry that I wrote for the vows, as well as for readings by my children and my granddaughter. A very dear friend was going to “walk the bride down the aisle,” but, sadly, that was not to be, as he passed away four months earlier. When we celebrate that day, we think of him as he was when times were good.

Unrelated to the prompt, I wrote this following his passing:
Message from a Death Metal God
I think of the great blue heron as his spirit animal.

Birdsong ~ haibun

Birdsong

“Wake! Wake!” Robin calls. “Today will be a hot day. Get an early start if you want to be on the water!” I rise as first light slips through the blinds. After morning coffee and a light breakfast, I go to the garage and put the kayak on the roof of my car.

An hour after my wake-up call, I paddle on the water of a smooth stream, the surface broken only by my bow and turtles startled by my passing. Repeated chirp of tufted titmouse scolds me for my presence. A hawk wheeling overhead responds with a scree.

eyes turn left
at sound of chirrup
kingfisher

This haibun is my response to Haibun Monday 4-26-22: bird songs,
the prompt from Frank Tassone at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.

Image source: ukiyo-e.org ~ Great Tit and Robin, by Kitagawa Utamaro

Shared with Day 26 at napowrimo.net.

Summer Day in Spring ~ haibun

Summer Day in Spring

On a bright, summer-like March day sandwiched between the forty degree norm of rain and clouds, I walk the paved and cedar-mulched trails that wind around and over the hills of this conservation area known as Runge. Trees marked with blue paint, some cut into segments, lie beside the trail, felled by state crews that, during winter, had marked those that were either dead or waiting to topple. Healthy trees are plenty along the two miles of trails in this hundred-acre preserve, with an occasional firmly-rooted, long-dead oak lending its graceful lines to those waiting for the arrival of green. As always, cedars show faces that seem to peer from trunks that bear the scars of severed limbs.

I cross a hillside meadow that shows new green within the black of a controlled burn before coming to a pond with its own green emerging from the water along banks of reeds flattened by winter ice and snow. A turtle watches warily as I pass to enter the forest once again. Along the path that takes me out of the preserve, I walk beside a small stream and stop to gaze at details in the limestone bed that are miniature examples of the Karst formations found here, in central and southern Missouri.

small splash of dull green
frog startled by intruder
stone that does not skip

Such a pleasant afternoon invites me to spend more time outdoors. Four miles away lies an island that is not an island. Sixty years ago, the US Army Corps of Engineers constructed wing dams on the Missouri River. Stone dikes that extend at an angle into the river are meant to prevent shore erosion while maintaining a steady current down the center of the river to provide a channel for commercial navigation. The slight curve that was in the river below the State Capitol soon began collecting river sediment, and the area that briefly becomes an island during high-stage floods now covers thirty acres of wooded terrain. A pedestrian bridge curves 765 feet from the riverside bluff, crossing railroad tracks that parallel the river to reach the new city park established on Adrian’s Island.

I leave the paved trail to take photos of tangled trees that have been carried downriver, then continue along a gravel road that extends to the end of the park. High in the trees that are likely fifty to sixty years old are two eagle’s nests. One has not seen any activity this year, but bald eagles often perch in the other, with reports that young eagles have been seen. I look up to see one of the parents overhead as it soars above the treetops and banks as it drops low over the river. It rises again and turns sharply before settling into the nest with its mate. As I leave the road, careful to maintain a safe distance from the tree that holds the nest, the eagle watches intently, sometimes moving to a nearby branch for a better view of me, while its mate stays behind. Taking what photos this angle allows, I then turn back to the trail and bridge to leave the island, knowing my photo opportunities will decrease as leaves appear, giving the eagles the seclusion they deserve.

cool days grow longer
warm breeze brings a welcome change
branches wait for green

This haibun is my response to Colleen’s #TankaTuesday Weekly Poetry Challenge No. 267, #ShareYourDay, in which we’re asked to take a photo and write a syllabic poem about our day.

It’s off-prompt, but I’m also sharing it with Day 3 at napowrimo.net
for National/Global Poetry Writing Month.