Friday, September 30, 2005

another funeral
paint peeling
from Jesus's robe

Thursday, September 29, 2005

at the edge
of town and dusk
solitary cars come and go

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

steep lawn
boys without shirts
rolling like barrels

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

sun setting
on the empty farmhouse
cowbell's distant echo

Monday, September 26, 2005

Wabi definition

"the twin brother to sabi . . . can be defined as poverty . . . beauty judged to be the result of living simply . . . austere beauty and poignancy."
Haiku Techniques. Jane Reichold.
abandoned bike
one upturned wheel
spinning slowly

Sunday, September 25, 2005

september chill
the rhythm of her snoring
stops . . . starts again

Saturday, September 24, 2005

acorn caps
the smallest squirrel
sniffs each one

Friday, September 23, 2005

More on Sabi

"Yoshida Kenko (1283-1350), a court poet who took Buddhist vows in his later years . . . a medieval man who possessed both a fine sensitivity for the poignancy of life and the perishability of all things and a profound nostalgia for the customs and ways of the past. . . . Many of Kenko's preferences--for the asymmetrical instead of the regular, for the subtly suggestive rather than the boldly asserted--can be traced to much earlier times in the development of Japanese culture. But one important criterion of his aesthetic taste, expressed most concisely in the term sabi (aged or antique), was distinctly a product of the medieval era. . . . the medieval Japanese developed a strong liking also for things that showed signs of wear and decay, for the withered, the rusted, the broken, and imperfect."
--Japanese Culture by H. Paul Varley.

watching her
short-order cook

Thursday, September 22, 2005

sweeping the cellar
same old thin line
against the dustpan

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

sabi definition

Sabi : a sad beauty, melancholy evoked by the passage of time, nostalgia, an aloneness but at the same time a recognition that we are all tied together. For further definitions see: ; ; and .
at her bedside
watching the september sun
slide from the room

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

indian summer
crumbling a leaf
with my big toe

Monday, September 19, 2005

haiku is not a poem . . .

a haiku is not a poem, it is not literature;
it is a hand beckoning, a door half opened,
a mirror wiped clean.
--r.h. blythe
in her garden apron
the flint arrowhead
found when she was young

Sunday, September 18, 2005

september breeze
pans hanging in the kitchen
chime softly

Saturday, September 17, 2005

Friday, September 16, 2005

fenced-in yard
a ball
leaps free