If a Deer Runs in a Forest

It’s just past sunrise when I see him. I wonder why he’s there alone, the little deer. I wonder if he’s one of the twins, I saw lying in the grass a day or two before. His light brown coat blends into the woods so well that I almost missed him. We both stopped walking. His ears twitch, and I see him sniffing the air. I take one step, and he takes one step. Finally—though I want to stay– I walk on, as quietly as I can. I feel like I’m disturbing his peace, though the sight of him has made my day. Later, when I see a group of deer resting together, I wonder if he’s there amongst them, with his family and friends. I wonder if they missed him when he was off on his own, and if they are all happy to be together again.

 

fawn loses his spots,

russet leaves fall to the ground–

time passes unheard

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This is for dVerse’s Haibun Monday, where qbit/Randall is the guest pub tender. He asks us to write about one member or element of a group. So, I guess that little deer made a big impression on me. I’m also linking to Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, where it’s open prompt words or “poet’s choice.”

Thoughts While Walking a Loop at Red Bank Battlefield Park

They soar,

never stumbling,

effortless in their grace,

a leap into the shadowed world

unknown

 

and yet

familiar, cycles repeated

without striving. Them. Me.

I walk circles

at peace

 

 

This is a mirror cinquain for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, using synonyms for fall and try.

That Day, and Since

That Day, and Since

Forget?

Impossible.

Lives lost in flamed towers,

toppled, we steer, unmoored—we move

forward.

 

This is a Crapsey Cinquain (syllables 2/4/6/8/2) for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, using synonyms for plan and finish.

On 9/11 I always think of this song from the musical Ordinary Days—performed here by Audra McDonald. I think it goes with my poem.

 

 

 

 

 

Colors of the Morning: Haibun

It is dark now when I wake. Fall is coming, though the air is still summer-steamy. The moon winks good morning and good-bye, in a sky that has turned from midnight blue to indigo. I watch as the sun, heralded by streaks of peach-tinged clouds, slowly rises, and the sky fades to bleached denim. A blue jay screams as he tries to land in the kitchen window bird feeder. He swoops and tries again, then heads back to the trees to tell of his adventures. I drink my coffee as the cats take their morning nap. Rosh Hashanah comes early this year. Soon—despite the heat—I’ll be baking loaves of round challah and simmering a pot of golden pumpkin soup for the new year.

 

lush green leaves and grass

harbor blue birds and brown squirrels—

one red-gold leaf falls

 

 

This Haibun is for dVerse, where Mish asked us to write about morning, and also for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday. For this 100th challenge, she left the words to us!

Shifting

Shifting

 

Shifting–

green leaves turn brown

and frangible, concede,

never rebelling, rustling

underfoot

 

bees’ buzz

ceases, replaced

by raucous geese in flight

calling themselves home, and we too

abide

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This double cinquain is for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, using synonyms for change and defy.

This is a Crapsey Cinquain with syllables 2,4,6,8,2.

 

 

 

 

 

Crickets: Darkness and Light: Haibun

The hot weather breaks for a bit. I open a window and hear the crickets chirping, searching for love in the darkness. Do they sense the future? Do they know that the nights will soon grow longer and colder? Autumn with its lengthening shadows always makes me feel wistful and a touch melancholy.

Darkness seems to be growing like a massive thundercloud shadowing the earth, and the shadow creatures are climbing from their murky lairs. Yet after every storm, I search for a rainbow. The light is always there, but we don’t always see it. The crickets chirp, even if we’re not listening. The poet pens a verse, even if no one reads it.

 

opaque skies glower

Harvest moon, hidden, still hums–

vixen cocks her head

 

I saw this story about a rainbow.

This Haibun is for dVerse, where Victoria asked to use cricket (in Japanese Koorogi) as a prompt.

I’m also linking this to Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, using synonyms for sad and write.

Flowing and Flown: Haibun

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Four years ago, our older daughter married. I look at photos of that day—her and her wife, my husband and I, our guests—all of us bound by affection for these two women. On their anniversary day, I have lunch with dear friends. They were at the wedding, too. As our children have grown, we’ve now attended many weddings together. We eat, sharing stories and talking in the way old friends who are comfortable with one another do. We were all young when we met, beginning married life, beginning careers. From the restaurant window, I see the Delaware River flowing as it has for centuries, but not without change. It, too, has seen joy and sorrow come and go, and still it flows on.

 

New buds burst open,

butterflies savor sweetness–

spider weaves her web

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This Haibun is for Colleen’s Tuesday Tanka Challenge. Colleen asked us to use synonyms for love and time. I’ve tried to create the overall feeling of each word here.

 

 

 

Stormy Weather–Tanka

Charcoal clouds gather

together they roil, blow

with stormy fervor

the winds of change, so ruthless

I fear, yet watch for rainbows

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A tanka for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, using synonyms for passion and congregate.

This seems appropriate for today. It’s the one-year anniversary of the white supremacist rally in Charlottesville, and we are expecting thunderstorms here in New Jersey.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That House on Oxford: Haibun

Not a ghost, but the emanation of some past emotion. That’s what I feel in that house in Havertown—the one my mother rented after my parents divorced. Have you noticed that some houses have their own emotional atmosphere? Well, that’s my theory, and if you’ve never felt a house reeking of love, terror, or despair, then it must sound weird to you. But this whole house makes me feel welcomed; my bedroom in particular—it’s as if someone has felt joy there in the past, and the feeling now lingers. . .forever. This room, painted a golden yellow, seems to glow all the time. Every molecule in its walls, floors—even the air—releases joy and serenity—at least for me. Here I also experience first love. I wonder if my feelings will join the room’s aura, biding there for future inhabitants.

thrush sings amid buds,

trees flower, and then leaves fall—

echoes hang in air

Dock Street Creek once flowed here.

 

 

This Haibun is for dVerse, where Lillian has asked us to write a traditional Haibun—that is, a tight paragraph or two, which is a true account, not fiction, followed by a traditional haiku. The haiku should be nature-based but allude to the prose. It should have a seasonal word, and “a haiku must have two parts including a shift, an added insight. Japanese poets include a KIREJI (cutting word). BUT there’s no linguistic equivalent in the English language therefore punctuation creates the cut: a dash, comma, an ellipsis, an exclamation point. Sometimes it’s simply felt in the pacing or reading.”

Lillian has asked us to write about one of the first houses we lived in. This was not the first, but it was the first one we lived in after we moved from Dallas to Havertown, PA, when I was in 7th Grade.

 

This is also for Colleen’s Tuesday Tanka, using synonyms for the words beliefs and strange. I’ve used theory and weird in my prose. Colleen notes that a Haibun should be written as though it is happening now.