Winter Haiku #7

vivid yet feeble
evening’s rays only skim
deeply hardened snow

Ango Morning [2]

winter dawn strains through
slatted windows;
snow sits over the grounds
with no thought of attainment.
tears in the zendo fall,
unencumbered by gravity.

Before the Snow Arrives

A poem hasn’t completed me
since last season;

I bring an occasional one
to the finish –
so I don’t forget
how many lines are in a stanza,
or to remind myself
the weight of my pencil.

I have to get the leaves moved;

the ones scattered
withered
across the lawn

I have to get them moved
before the snow arrives.

Ango Morning

morning light
reflects golden
across the oak floor

frames
a single strand of dust
as it floats
through the
cold zendo air

birds outside
answer the call
of the dokusan bell

Winter Haiku #6

icicles cling
framing the morning
our sun’s pale struggle

Streaked and Spotted

The kitchen window is streaked and spotted
on the outside from months-gone
summer rains.

The air has since turned frigid;
small birds flit & dance on the barren bush
just beyond the sill.

Inside, I stand resting
in the sun that streams through
just above the old porcelain sink.

The dishes are finished
and last wisps of steam rise;
the children are occupied with holiday gifts

as I forget for a moment
everything isn’t all right.

—

Another notebook fragment from December finally coalesces.

Keep Me Company

Winter’s early cold has gathered
steam against the windows,
softening the lights’ reflection.

Standing in the doorway,
I strain above the hum of the dryer
to hear my son
as he narrates his play by whisper
in the old claw foot bathtub.

I should be helping him,
but he hasn’t noticed me there,
and the teacup is warm in my hands.

Finally he stills and calls to me — Dad?
I thought you were going to keep me company?

Of course I am.
Of course I am.

Despite What the Buddha Tells Me

Perhaps I will try one more time
to run away from my dissatisfaction,

despite what the Buddha tells me.

I’d like to linger just a bit longer
at the breakfast table
amid striped pyjamas and cereal crumbs;
replace the broken panes of glass
in the porch and attic windows
to hold back the winter chill —

to sit
and leave space for two breaths
instead of one.

Tanka #6

 
early morning
sun and shadows streak
thinning ice
clinging against hope
for a day’s reprieve

Winter Haiku #5

yesterday’s snow
streams across asphalt —
blue skies deepen

—

I’ve been working on letting go of a rigid syllable structure for haiku and tanka. It has been difficult – it turns out that letting go of one structure simply means giving myself over to another, however it might be veiled.