Breaking Through
Haibun Poem Tuesday evening zazen — not an “ease in” sore thighs and forearms burning, mid-spine vertebra numb legs all troubling thoughts from this morning so much crumbled dust no fresher feeling than recovery...
Category: Haibun
His Own Assembly
Haibun Poem Frankie squats on the living room hardwood floor. He grabs a blue, semicircular plastic connector. Then he stares at the directions, makes adjustments and adds a short yellow rod. The “Demon...
Personal Paschal Mystery
Haibun Poem You took your last breath. You, the Life, died. Where you could never be, you went. Death, through yours, becomes the door to life. My cousin, who could sit still no...
Seventh Annual Fun Run
Haibun Poem Parents in T-shirts and shorts herd their hyperactive children to the starting line. We ignore the green-shirted volunteer speaking through a bullhorn. Other volunteers attempt to corral us to one-half of...
A Deprivation
Haibun Poem The sound of Screeching steel alongside our house. A hot July 3rd; we look up from our empty dinner plates on the deck table. The ventilation fan of our central air...
Tai Chi Practice
Haibun Poem “White Crane Spreads its Wings” Sunlight rippling off the Ramapo River Deep breath in. During commencement, I raise soft, rounded arms. They ascend, roll and descend. Deep breath out. As I...
Last Laugh
Haibun Poem Sitting on a rock, cross-legged, I pretend to meditate. My eyes half-closed, hands on my knees fingers up, I keep repeating “ommm.” Even when he’s so far up the trail, I...
Another Renaissance
Haibun Poetry The maple tree by the deck blooms. Small leaves sprout from the tiniest tendril branches growing from her moss-infested trunk. She wasn’t supposed to live this season. Now sparrows perch on...
Restless Day After
Haibun Poetry A Nickelodeon version of Cinderella plays in the family room. Bella, our neighbor’s golden retriever, barks at a passing dog and walker. The pine-scented aroma from our freshly mopped tile floor reaches...
A Cathartic Question?
Haibun Poetry Her eyes hold a distant look as she lifts her head from her book. A question Shirley asked her earlier still haunts her: How do I feel about Robert? After she...
Mother’s Day Morning
Haibun Poems The aging yellow brush of her favorite broom swishes dust and seeds off of the salmon Trex deck. Mira’s Portuguese cascades high and low like a melody as she sweeps single-handed, the...
