Tag: Haiku
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Autumn Vibes
Sugar maples ablaze between the orchard, gardens, and barns. What a season! Thanks, Pam, for capturing the autumn vibes from this fun vantage point in the nearest of Rosslyn’s meadows. Although leaf peeping fiery fall foliage is inevitably and justifiably the cynosure this time of year, autumn vibes are aroused insubtler ways as well. Ripe…
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Old House, New Home
I’ve lived much, perhaps even *most* of my life in old houses. With the exception of late middle and high school, 3/4 of college, briefly in Santa Fe (1996-9), and briefly in Paris and Rome, my homes have been within old houses. And, come to think of it, some of my boarding school years were…
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Papaver Bee-ing
Whether hummingbirds or butterflies or honey bees or bats or scores of other pollinators accidentally doing the work of fertilizing flowers from generation to generation, the appetite for nectar powers progeny. A sweet song of perpetuity. A dulcet dance engendering poppies aplenty. Papaver Bee-ing, Haiku By coincidencea poppy pollinator,the bee nectaring. I wonder, in our…
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Lone Oak
I remember, as a boy, seeing a mature bald eagle sitting in this oak tree. It must’ve been 1984 or 1985. My mother was driving us from Rock Harbor to Plattsburgh, where we went to school. It was less common to see bald eagles back then. They were present in the Champlain Valley, but less…
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October Rain
Sometimes it’s as if frames from two different films overlap. For a moment. Sometimes longer. Occasionally the overlapping images complement one another, but often the experience is jarring. Confusing. Unsettling. Seasons bleed into one another playfully, testing our agility, our resilience. Far-flung geographies, domiciles, and life stages muddle, merge, and drift apart again. Our worlds…
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High on Nectar
I recently learned that autumn isn’t the best of times for drone honeybees, but there’s still time for the rest of us to get high on nectar. And since the humble haiku is nearly nectar in the poppy fields of poetry, I’ll defer today to an industrious honeybee high on nectar of a windblown poppy…
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September Poems
Boathouse Bonfire, September 27, 2014 (Source: Geo Davis) If September poems sound overly sentimental to you or if you’re inclined to a grittier observance of the almost-upon-us Autumn Equinox, I’ve got you covered. Soon. Stay tuned. But if you’re comfortable lingering briefly — and these poems are, if nothing else, brief — in the seasonality…
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Converging Vignettes
I occasionally question my choice of Redacting Rosslyn as the catchall category for the nearly decade-and-a-half process of documenting Rosslyn’s rehab ad infinitum or — more precisely — of telling the story (distilling the spirit from the collage of details, filtering out acerbic and delicate dregs, blending the best into a balanced and cohesive whole.)…
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A Lake Is Born
No night, I’m thinking(willing, really), lastsforever, endless.But my confidenceflutters then falters.What if I’m wrong? Just then, before dawn,day breaks early andundreams the darkness,banishes black thatripens to eggplant,fades to indigo. A solitarysunbeam’s hatchet honedcleaves wide somber dome,spills veins of amber,honey smeared scarletover-ripened, bursts. A vast aquarelleunleveed shimmers,a lake is born andmountain range cutouts,mirrored but mottledon breeze…
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Hammock Huddle Haiku
Hankering for a hammock huddle this morning, so I’ll I revisit the photograph I shared on June 6 depicting a herd of hammocks near the orchard. Yes, the color is a little over juiced. And the shadows are dark almost to the point of feeling ominous. Or cozy? But this moment beckons this morning given…