bank statement

year-end bank statement
reusing the tea bag
for a second cup

last day of the year

last day of the year
the dream
unremembered

lustrous snow

lustrous snow
paraphrasing
sunlight

Christmas eve

Christmas eve
the girls wearing
new flannel PJs

solstice

solstice
sipping a stronger brew
in the waning light

rain turns to sleet

rain turns to sleet
grounding my daughter
our shared tears

winter night

winter night
chill of moonlight
on my skin

Publication

Winter Heron's Nest

half moon

half moon
giving thanks
for all of it

Words

Today a favorite poem that speaks of how language defines the world and always falls short. Very relevant to haiku's subtlety, its "pointing a jeweled finger at the moon."

The world does not need words. It articulates itself
in sunlight, leaves, and shadows. The stones on the path
are no less real for lying uncatalogued and uncounted.
The fluent leaves speak only the dialect of pure being.
The kiss is still fully itself though no words were spoken.

And one word transforms it into something less or other—
illicit, chaste, perfunctory, conjugal, covert.
Even calling it a kiss betrays the fluster of hands
glancing the skin or gripping a shoulder, the slow
arching of neck or knee, the silent touching of tongues.

Yet the stones remain less real to those who cannot
name them, or read the mute syllables graven in silica.
To see a red stone is less than seeing it as jasper—
metamorphic quartz, cousin to the flint the Kiowa
carved as arrowheads. To name is to know and remember.

The sunlight needs no praise piercing the rainclouds,
painting the rocks and leaves with light, then dissolving
each lucent droplet back into the clouds that engendered it.
The daylight needs no praise, and so we praise it always—
greater than ourselves and all the airy words we summon.

from Interrogations at Noon
© 2001 Dana Gioia

cold drizzle

cold drizzle
how can a broken heart
continue breaking?

Happy birthday, my son

winter in the wind

winter in the wind
no cake for this candle lit
in memoriam

For Andy

biodiversity

Sometimes, a picture really is worth a thousand words. I thought this pictorial in the NYT titled "biodiversity" was particularly poetic and humorous. You'll see autumn leaves in a new light.

Simply Haiku

Catch my latest publication at Simply Haiku. See assemblages 2, 3, and 4.

last leaf

last leaf
re-learning the art
of letting go

late autumn

late autumn
preferring the quiet work
of raking leaves

all saints day

all saints day
from the corner of my eye
someone   no one

autumn sunset

autumn sunset
dripping Van Morrison's
Tupelo honey

reading haiku

reading haiku
at 3 a.m.
rain drums the skylight

cold rain

cold rain
a maple leaf floats
in the water basin

the breached creek bank

breached creek bank
all day half-living
in last night's dream

Transitions

I started this blog, appropriately, on April 1, 2007, with the intent of writing one haiku a day for a year, which I did for well over 2 years. Most haiku experts will admit that none of those first verses qualifies as haiku. It has been a journey, one I am deeply grateful to have your friendship and kindness as I made my way.

Writing a daily haiku feels more like work than an interesting challenge these days. I need to be untethered from the calendar and write as moved, which I hope doesn't become too infrequent. I have felt anxiety, not wanting to let my readers down. I am so grateful for your support.

I have another challenge I am not sure how to approach. Most journals are now accepting haiku that have not appeared in print or on line in any forum. I need to think about whether the day-to-day camaraderie and support I get is more important to me than publishing. I could post here the haiku I don't intend on submitting, but a) it's hard to know how good a poem is sometimes when it's fresh, whether it's a keeper or not, and b) I don't want the quality of my blog to consist only of the sub-par haiku. I welcome your advice. I don't like feeling like I have to choose between my blog and publishing. Suggestions?

I've renamed the blog to break from the daily commitment. I am using a line from a haibun and what will be the title of my book, the rising mist. The URL remains the same.

Warmest thanks,

Nora

mackerel sky

pine shavings curl
in the hand plane
mackerel sky

migration

migration
this unnamed flock
no less beautiful

pond

the leaf's shadow
on the pond dapples
brocaded carp

deep autumn

deep autumn
we read love poems once
in these woods

autumn dew

autumn dew
bird seed sprouting
in the old feeder

unfulfilled wish

unfulfilled wish
daruma doll's
one eye

star map

star map
tracing the constellations
on your flesh

rising floodwaters

rising floodwaters
the man paddles his canoe
with a shovel

Autumn Equinox

autumn equinox
the fallen leaf
half-green, half-gold

first frost

first frost
instead of silk
flannel

harvest moon

harvest moon
swimming in the black pond
on this clear night

time's passing

time's passing
my hourglass waist betrayed
by middle-age

cricket song

cricket song
long accustomed
to this ceaseless yearning

9/11

9/11
weeping willow vines
just touch the water

autumn breeze

autumn breeze
a child whispers
her first grace

morning tea

morning tea
returning the cup
its emptiness

neighborhood walk

neighborhood walk
echo of my "good morning"
from the stroller

seasons change

seasons change
grandma's grave healing
from the interment

first cool day

first cool day
not wanting to conceal
my pink pedicure

letter-burning

letter-burning
smoke's plumed calligraphy
renders these words mute

Notes from the Gean Tree

My latest haiku published here.

Hi, Alan! I see we're "following" each other again in the publications. Great work!

littoral

littoral
with each wave a grain of sand
given and taken

shadows lengthen

shadows lengthen
a crimson leaf rests
on the sundial

open window

open window
the cellist's
slow vibrato

lotus pond

lotus pond
tadpoles feast
on a seedpod

honeysuckle

honeysuckle
the hummingbird
presses in deeper

on the lake

on the lake
water's reflection dances
across her face

algae bloom

algae bloom
the green frog jumps
into my green pond

autumn grasses

autumn grasses
at least the tea
remains green

Atlanta traffic

Atlanta traffic
pondering the manner
of my death

low tide

low tide
a gull's wing curves
over the curved earth

jelly-making

jelly-making
a parade of ants
sticks to the counter

alone

alone
dabbing on perfume
anyway

Publication

Check out my latest publication in the autumn edition of Simply Haiku: haiku and haibun

sirens

sirens pierce the night
the stillborn's
unheard cries

deep shade

deep shade
the deep purple sweetness
of serviceberries

perseids

perseids
we help mother blow out
sixty-three candles

August heat

August heat
the pregnancy test results
become clear

this is not an announcement; it's just an image. :-)

damselflies

damselflies
dart across the water
a bluer blue

the fading sunset

the fading sunset
at her bedside
he strokes her hair

flight of time

the egret lifts off
contemplating the flight
of time

first light

first light
heeding the cardinal's
call to prayer

end of summer

end of summer
more cucumbers
than neighbors

this steady rain

this steady rain
the one thing I needed
you couldn't do:
to love me
without stint

hazy moon

hazy moon
above and below
the moon bridge

ink-stained silk

ink-stained silk
I have banished you
from my thoughts
why do you
invade my dreams?

blue columbine

blue columbine
the freshly etched date
on her headstone

morning dew

morning dew--
in layered chiffon and pearls
grandma's burial dress
is the finest
she ever wore

A note

I have hit 800 virtually daily haiku, and I want to thank all of you, my friends, for your comments and kindness. I might have given up at some point without them. As a result of both of our constancy, I will be publishing a collection around year-end. Stay tuned...

Also, Alan hasn't posted the results to the contest page yet, but he notified the contestants by e-mail, and I was short-listed for the annual With Words Haiku Competition for this haiku:

pink dawn
the wingbeats of geese
returning

Thank you, Alan. And thank you all!

still summer night

still summer night
the taste of my daughter's sweat
as I kiss her brow

I waited

I waited in vain
for you last night
yet I heard
you calling me
in the wind

flower-laden grave

flower-laden grave
the goodbye
I never said

light slants

light slants through the clouds
we leave the cemetery
bearing her with us

solar eclipse

solar eclipse
grandma's white hair haloes
her repose

last shimmer

last shimmer
of light fades from the lake
grandma's passing

For AHL 1918 - 2009

last night

last night
we breathed in unison
missing you now
I cannot seem to catch
my breath at all

first peach

first peach
the child's rosy chin
dripping nectar

rain on windchimes

rain on windchimes
the sound
of your leaving

sleepless night

sleepless night
the din of worry and frogs
calling

roses wilting

roses wilting
lying here together
missing you still

news of a death

news of a death
even in the shade
the unforgiving sun

summer day

summer day
among the clouds
runs a wind horse

summer love

summer love
he gathers her a bouquet
of lightning bugs

jasmine twining

jasmine twining
the churchyard fence
a freshly heaped grave

this heat

this heat! sleeping naked under a naked moon

With a nod to Issa...

edge of morning

edge of morning
sun kissing the edge
of the earth

wildflowers

rutted service road
knee deep
in wildflowers

night sky

the night sky
raining stars
fireworks

Independence Day

homeless girl playing
with her unraveled hem
Independence Day

city bus

Rome flashing
across passengers' faces
city bus

heron

heron
wading into
the cloud

river baptism

rising
in a nimbus of midges
river baptism

quavering heat

quavering heat
cicadas cry
in tempo

white lie

white lie
a veiled beekeeper
puffs smoke at the hive

cumulus

cumulus
crossing the blue pools
of her gaze

swan song

a mute swan's song
from its carved wing bone
first flute music

stone age flutes

riding in the rain

My father was an avid equestrian and disciplinarian. His four daughters dreaded riding with him because he sternly and constantly corrected our form or technique. When I was 15 and more interested in Seventeen magazine and fashion than going on horseback with my dad, that's where I found myself one early summer day. I wish I could remember why we went riding together; I certainly wouldn't have gone willingly.

As we guided our horses up the narrow trail through the aspen groves and Indian Paintbrush of the national forest--dad in his cowboy hat in front and I, bare-headed, in back--a light, warm rain began. I do recall the easy quiet between us with only the sound of soft rain, squeak of saddles bearing our weight, and a horse's hoof striking an exposed root or rock. Just as vividly I can still smell the ozone, the woods, and the scent of wet horse and leather.

warm rain
only the trail before us
silence between us

moon-gazing

moon-gazing
even from this rock
an astronaut

watering can

watering can
wilting plants revived
with simplicity

by Afton

windrows

windrows
red as his allis chalmers
the farmer's face

midnight jazz

midnight jazz
rain streaming down
the verdigris chain

the shortest night

the shortest night
fireflies outshine
the stars

midsummer

midsummer
on its shimmering thread
spider poised halfway

verandah

verandah
the deaf man
listens to the rain

summer's warm breeze

summer's warm breeze
wanting to hear again
my name in your voice

moonless night

moonless night
the hounds howl
only in my dream

reunion

sepia souls smile
from a photo negative
reunion

overgrown grapevine

overgrown grapevine
unsigned divorce papers
heavy in my hand

relentless sun

relentless sun
my lips meet the cool arc
flowing from the hose

Cassiopeia

limned in light
across night's dark scroll
Cassiopeia

sego lilies

In the Wyoming high country sego lilies bloom for only two weeks in mid-June. Their exotic beauty is unexpected amid sage, aspen and pinon pine. My Mormon ancestors foraged for these nutritious bulbs in lean times. To me, they were a true sign of summer as the snows receded from the foothills.

homesick--
hungry only for the beauty
of sego lilies

sweltering stillness

sweltering stillness
the nurse flicks a bubble
from the syringe

silver dawn

silver dawn
slug traces iridesce
on the garden path

live oak

live oak
dripping moss
dripping moonlight

flower moon

flower moon
the nightshades
unfurl

afternoon heat

afternoon heat
tandem damselflies
bask on a reed

thistles

yanking up thistles
the confession
I regret

summer heat

summer heat
kimono hung on the wall
billows from the fan

rose grafts

rose grafts--
I sit as my daughter
draws my portrait

faded postcard

faded postcard
the Nagasaki temple
before

publication

Catch my latest haiku published in The Heron's Nest.

hydrangea

hydrangea
on one hand pink
on the other blue

lilacs

scent of lilacs
family gathered
for her last breaths

last cast

last cast
the fly's graceful arc ending
at the rainbow trout

fig blossoms

fig blossoms
my daughter asks when I lost
my virginity

night sky

night sky
from the beginning of time
birth of a star

spring trail

spring trail
the squeak of new leather
on an old nag

blind date

the blind date
who never arrives
last match in the book

morning after

morning after rain
perfumed silk puddled
by the bed

peonies

double peonies bloom
on the artist's canvas
and just beyond

blue

bathed
in blue dusk
the blue heron

mayflies

mayflies
rising from the river
with the fog

graduation day

graduation day
the unworn
cap and gown

daily haiku

daily haiku--
this practice
my only prayer

moth

even if it knew
the flame's seduction
moth

walking after dark

walking after dark
the moon
follows me home

loss

a friend's miscarriage--
looking into the blank eyes
of an antique doll

coming summer

spring turns summer
her blush
as he holds her gaze

mailbox

long walk
from the mailbox
rejection letter

publication in Sketchbook

Ten haiku you read here first appear in the journal, Sketchbook.

Thank you Karina and John!

Mother's Day

Mother's Day--
dreaming the children
she will never conceive

before Dachau

before Dachau
the artist's colony
on the Amper

honeysuckle moon

honeysuckle moon--
the taste of your kiss
all these years later

spring sun

spring sun--
the dog keeps shifting herself
into the shadows

bygones

bygones--
buying a used car
from my ex-husband

garden

garden plot--
the earth pleated and planted
gives way to hope

thunderheads

thunderheads--
the 1812 overture
on the radio

barefoot

barefoot in the grass
clutch of a salamander
across my toes

planting

pressing dirt
around the root ball
a sweat bead seeps in

koan

strong yet pliant grass
pushing up through concrete--
cracking a koan

out of the bath

out of the bath
the fresh stiffness
of a line-dried towel

dandelion clocks

dandelion clocks--
turning my face
to the sun's warmth

aria

afternoon drive--
an aria
of azaleas

rain ends

rain ends--
birdsong
commences

afternoon heat

afternoon heat--
crescents of dirt
under my nails

twilight

twilight--
a new wrinkle
in the mirror

neap tide

neap tide--
loggerhead hatchlings
spill down the beach

earth day

earth day--
my ex-husband tills
a new garden plot

petal-strewn path

petal-strewn path--
the promises we made
and broke on the way

silk

silkworm--
choosing the white kimono
for her burial

first light

first light--
fishermen cast their first nets
over deep waters

grandma's garden

'mid morning glories
the sign remains:
grandma's garden

false dawn

false dawn--
the lie I pretend
not to catch you in

wisteria

wisteria--
news of a child's cancer
hangs heavy on my heart

sparks

reaching for her hand
static passes between them--
the sparks

fledgelings

fledgelings--
the neighbor child down
to one training wheel

wind-blown petals

wind-blown petals--
this fleeting translucence
passing between us

after showers

after showers
spanning the rainbow's arc
the full sky

Easter Sunday

Easter Sunday--
finding in the bush
last year's egg

pubished in Winter 2008 Simply Haiku

vigil

vigil--
weeping cherry sheds
its last petals

stations of the cross

stations of the cross--
the lamb finds
his feet

maundy thursday

maundy thursday--
in the churchyard moonlight bathes
the foot of the cross

turning

all day
turning and turning
vultures

heavy with nectar

heavy with nectar
bees turn from flower to hive--
the honeyed sunset

birdsong

birdsong--
each note a summons
to the day

ripples

skipping stones
father and son--
the ripples

spring break

spring break--
pale flesh scattered on the beach
like so much driftwood

pollen

pollen--
yellow-green fractals
swirl on the pond

light rain

light rain--
palliative drip...drip...drip
of morphine

at two years; latest publication

Sincere thanks to all of you who follow this blog. Today marks two years of virtually daily haiku. I am just a few short of 700 poems. I truly appreciate your readership and commentary.

Also, I just had three haiku published in the March 2009 World Haiku Review (see pp. 1, 2, 4).

another spring

another spring
the empty seat
at the table

abandoned graves

abandoned graves--
could I have sprung from these
long-forgotten names?

moonlight

moonlight--
afterward only silence
between us

nightfall

nightfall
enfolding both star
and wish

prognosis

a bee buzzes
on the windowsill--the sting
of the prognosis

peach blow

peach blow--
the baby discovers
the taste of her toes

visitation

visitation--
hymns of rain
on the windowpane

bell jar

placing over
the tender plant a bell jar--
my daughter's first date

plum blossoms

plum blossoms
caught up by the zephyr--
our ephemeral love

wingbeats

pink dawn--
the wingbeats of geese
returning

nightingale song

The cloistered sound
of vespers rising--
nightingale song

the whitest blossom

the whitest blossom--
only the wind
in the orchard

Spring Equinox

Spring Equinox--
raindrops on each pink bud
double their beauty

first butterfly

her astonishment
at the quickening within--
first butterfly

poppies

poppy fields--
the addict cinches tight
the tourniquet

moonset

moonset--
the distance between us
measured in breaths

moonrise

a mute swan's
silent circles--
moonrise

spring cleaning

spring cleaning--
when did she quit
playing with dolls?

daffodil

half-lit daffodil
shining in shadow--
this anodyne rain

morning run

morning run--
spun light
of a spring dawn

dogwood blossoms

white canopies
of dogwood blossoms--
taking the long way

morning star

morning star--
the newborn's fontanel
pulses softly

chopping onions

chopping onions--
reason enough
to let the tears come

moonlit beach

moonlit beach--
a first kiss the surf
licking at our feet

narcissus

narcissus--
my daughter oblivious
of her own beauty

lenten moon

lenten moon--
the bottomless cries
of hatchlings

sakura petals

sakura petals--
another spring
apart

ceremony

with steepled hands
the divorce judge
dissolves our marriage

Sunday snow

Sunday snow--
pondering the density
of the holy ghost

empty

spring snow--
the enormity
of this empty bed

publication

See my latest haiku published in The Heron's Nest.

counting

counting seconds
between lightning and thunder
litany of loss

blood moon

blood moon--
stepping into the river
my young daughter

scent of rain

scent of rain--
all the ways
we failed each other

spring meadow

spring meadow
sound of seedlings bursting
into sunlight

luna

budding branch--
luna moth dries
her unfurled wings

creekside

purling creek--
a remembered lullaby
in the mother tongue

hawk

hawk glides
bearing lightly on its wings
heaven

night sky

stars gleam
dewdrops
on a spun sky

labyrinth

labyrinth--
between pavers new shoots green
my meditation

midnight

midnight--
I wonder whether you breathed
this same air once

thunderstorm

thunderstorm--
a child sleeps
on my leaden arm

days lengthen

days lengthen--
my young nephew enroute
to Afghanistan

willow catkins

willow catkins--
newborn barn kittens
open their eyes

cleaving

In the spring of 1993, I was nearing the end of my second pregnancy with a daughter. As she once again dug her heels into my ribs, I was able to clutch her tiny heel through my stretched flesh for a few seconds. It was a precious near-meeting in the bright world outside my womb where I knew and held all of her.

My thoughts turned to my son, the firstborn, whose tiny heel had been pricked countless times and whose burial booties had been far too big. Could he be as nearby as she with only a translucent membrane or mime's wall separating his dimension and mine?

the rising fog--
all that divides us
all that binds us



Published in Contemporary Haibun Online.

robins return

robins return--
a strand of pink ribbon
feathers a new nest

first pale shoots

first pale shoots--
whisking the matcha
to a jade froth

first tree buds

first tree buds--
untuned piano music
from the old folks home

waves

shell held to my ear--
a wave swells and rides
itself to shore

post-divorce date

post-divorce date--
rubbing the pale band
on my ring finger

spring thaw

spring thaw...
an old friend and I
make amends

drip

finally sun--
the icicle's persistent
rhythmic drip

stargazing II

clear night--
the big dipper ladling
the milky way

nesting

robins nesting—
fresh white for the crib
she once slept in

cold front

cold front--
in the busker's guitar case
five copper coins

double

upon still waters
this rustic boat rides
its reflection

stargazing

stargazing--
is it a star or plane,
that pulsating?

spring rain

spring rain--
how the polished rock
parts the river

rumor of war

rumor of war--
lightning chars
the sweet olive

lunar new year

lunar new year--
the baby waves her
dumpling fists

snowbound

snowbound--
the boundless form
of silence

inauguration

inauguration--
the new mom wiping tears
with a burp cloth

starlight

starlight--
slow dancing long after
the music ends

bitter wind

bitter wind--
all the sweetness captive
in this clementine

hunger moon

hunger moon--
the deer's neck stretched to reach
the last tree bark

deep winter

deep winter--
fragile ice fringes
the meadow pond

midwinter night

midwinter night--
holding a hug longer
to hear her heartbeat

Tanka

train platform--
unmistakable scent
of English Leather
the man even looked
a bit like my father

fork in the road

fork in the road--
the sign points
both ways

flood waters

flood waters crest--
a coffin bobs
to the surface

matins

breaking
the water basin ice--
matins

evensong

singing again
her favorite lullabye--
evensong

snowmelt

the taut plunk
of a cello string breaking--
snowmelt

winter moon

ferrying night
from dusk to dawn
winter moon

snowed in

snowed in--
a child etches her name
in window rime

paperwhites

paperwhites...
in her pale, blue-veined hand
the teacup trembles

another year

another year--
to blow out the candles
two breaths

Happy birthday to Magyar too!

fresh snowfall

fresh snowfall--
losing her last baby tooth
my daughter's gapped smile

individuality

light snow in aspens--
in the mirror, all that
is and is not me

moonrise

winter night--
from the lake a silver blob
breaks free and rises

Gaza new year

Gaza new year--
fireworks ring in
warfare

blossoms

camellia blossoms--
The pink-fisted baby
grabs my finger

blue

crystal winter skies
counting the shades of azure
through bare branches

shadow

winter sun--
my shadow writing haiku
beside me

new year

new year--
a phone call
from an old lover

this new year
resolving
not to make resolutions