Vigil Without End – Haibun – August 7, 2015

When my Dad passed away back in 2010, I was back home, here in Italy.  I’d been back in the States during the month of September, the first time in thirty years.  He’d been operated on and had his bladder removed. For a little while it looked as thought he had once again beat cancer and I enjoyed going around with him in the car and sitting with him next to his Japanese fish pond with its golden Buddha.

However, three days before I left, we discovered that that wasn’t the case.

He was back in hospital just before I left, we joked and laughed.  He made light of his situation, though I think he was in pain and knew he was going to die, he hid it well.  The day I had to leave I said: “Next time you’ll come and visit me in Italy!” and he replied: “You know, I don’t think I’ll be able to make that trip.”

All the family was around him when he passed away in December, except for me and my sister in Arizona.  I was constantly in contact with my brother and sisters on Skype and when the moment came, it was almost like being there but not quite.

After years of living far away it’s like another long interval, like all those years before, for me he’s still alive, I just don’t know when I’ll see him again.

vigil without end
walking in memories
always vitally alive

© G.s.k. ‘15

Written for:

Carpe Diem Special #160 Lolly’s 2nd bedside vigilance

 and linked to Your Golden Buddha

A Thin Red Line — June 26, 2015

shooting blind
who will die who will kill
no one knows – they shoot

where is the sense
what makes them better than me
or me better than them

is there an answer
maybe hidden in a bunker
where no grenade explodes

where are we going
where ever have we been
did we ever really live

look around
leaves growing green in spring
life blossoms

the sun warms the earth
filtering through the trees
the wet earth – a sweet perfume

they tell you to shoot
kill your enemy – then weep
when you shoot up a school

fear, envy, blindness
we walk in the shadow of evil
and close our eyes

blinded by blood-red light
we no longer see that we’re one
part of a whole

We are
lost … lost

© G.s.k. ‘15

WITT.
We were a family. How’d it break up and come apart so that now we’re turned against each other, each standing in the other’s light? How’d we lose the good that was given us, let it slip away, scattered, careless? What’s keeping us from reaching out, touching the glory?

The Thin Red Line

 

a falling sound – June 19, 2015

From Gold to White

From Gold to White

in the quiet dawn
a falling sound fell with rain
a lover’s passing

© G.s.k. ‘15

Not so long ago, at dawn, when I get most of my news from my family, I was told that my ex-husband had passed away.  For years we were the best of friends and I choose to remember those years rather than our parting of ways.

like old friends
walking in Africa
under the spring rains
we chose different paths
but a knot always remained

© G.s.k. ‘15

This week’s “Encore” haiku was written by Basho in spring 1666 short after the unexpected dead of his friend, Yoshitada. Basho was almost 22 years of age when he wrote this haiku. Jane says the following about this haiku:

[…] “What the Japanese call ume is most often translated as “plum” because of the Latin name Prunus mume, but the fruit more closely resembles the apricot. Because these fruits ripen during mid-June to mid-July, the rains of this time are called ume no ame (“plum rains”). Even ripe, the fruit is inedible until it has been preserved in a salty, sour liquid similar to olives”. […]

furu oto ya mimi mo su-naru ume no ame

a falling sound
that sours my ears
plum rain

© Basho (Tr. Jane Reichhold)

For:

On The Trail With Basho Encore 5 a falling sound

Dreaming – Haibun – April 25, 2015

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

There are mornings when I wake-up and I wonder if I’m really awake or if this is the dream part of my existence.  I’m not being rhetorical – no Zen messages hidden between the lines, just a thought that occurs from time to time.

Dreaming is one of my favourite pass-times.  I’m not even one of those persons that sleep 8 hours a day but when I sleep, I dream.

Some of the most beautiful journeys I’ve ever taken were while I was asleep.  A beautiful trip through some fantastic countryside or exploring a dusty ancient mansion and so on.  My favourite dream is a trip through a city with all it’s winding streets and plazas.  Once in this city, I took a long bus ride, just enjoying the sights.

The people I meet are not always pleasant, sometimes they’re really scary sometimes silly and sometimes they’re people I’ve known but whom I haven’t seen in ages.  I don’t remember ever meeting any beautiful mystical persons.  Sometimes I don’t meet anyone at all but I hear a voice telling me this thing or that.  This morning, I was having a Latin lesson – clearly a left-over from my evening out with a few of my students who were talking about their school days – however the last word I remember in the dream was not Latin at all but the Greek letter ‘iota’!

“To sleep perchance to dream”  said the Bard through Hamlet, ” For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.”  I wonder … what will become of ‘me’ when that day comes.  Will this life become the dream … or will this energy that is me become part of the whole mass of energy that is the Universe blending everything into a non memory.  Who knows.

in this dream
reflections of a puddle
without the moon

© G.s.k. ‘15

Morning Haiku and Waka – February 15, 2015

painted dream tree

this tree
just a vision
I dreamed
this morning

oniric garden
wingless flight in boundless skies
fire-birds fly

gardener of sleep
dream weaver works day and night
creating new worlds

what is reality
this lucid dream of here and now
or lucid night worlds

© G.s.k. ‘15

This first video was made many years ago … and below is our pianist in 2010 for his 85th birthday … he plays the same wonderful piece … He left us on the first of February this year.

 

that August evening
from infinity to “now”
you entered my dreams
accompanied by Satie
thus you were born my dear son

© G.s.k. ‘15

Their Old Friend – January 31, 2015

They walked down the lane, golden leaves rustled in the wind … the sky reflected the sadness that laden both their hearts. A steady drizzle, like their tears, pitter-pattered on the pavement.  He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer to him under the umbrella, she leaned into him. Their pace was slow, as though a few more years had been added to their already long lives.

When they got back home, she went into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. She brought a tray with some cookies and coffee into the living room.  They sat on the couch.  She pulled out an old photo album, there he was, their old friend.

Broken sentences … So rambunctious! Used to love his food and what a voice he had! Poor guy, couldn’t even eat in the end.

“I’ll take his stuff out to garage when we finish here.” he said “I’ve already gotten rid of the litter box. There’s just his scratching post and a few toys left.”

The sun set, the rain continued.

 

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

This is part of a writing experiment that I started back in 2013 … and got side-tracked from.  What I wanted to do was draw with words … a word sketch or perhaps fuse poetry with prose in a prose poem that tells a story.  This is an edited version of the first attempt, which can be found following the date link at the top of the page.

Lord Death – Wordleing Free Verse -December 8, 2014

 

He reigns just and true
no deviations no feigned morality,
he severs every chain and
quenches all our enflamed hearts
when he finally calls our name.

Obliged, we sustain his bidding,
though the strain may derange our thoughts –
no cave is deep enough
to escape his mighty call,
no cape can keep us hidden,
no haze will confound his sight
and none with whom to exchange places –
when he finally calls our name.

Soundlessly, he traipses this dimension
severing the fragile filet coils of silver –
we know when he walks near
and humbly we bow and meekly follow
when Lord Death, our ultimate Earthly master –
finally calls our name.

(c) G.s.k. ’14

190

filet, cave, strain, sustain, deranged, feign, traipse, haze, chains, enflame, exchange, cape

This post is linked to Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie and Sunday Whirl

Sunday Whirl banner

 

To Roger – December 5, 2014

To Roger …

I just heard, you ended your voyage,
Your walk through this mortal coil
Was never easy for you …
A broken family
A harsh father …
Born in a world of throw-back values …
An African colonial child
Never Italian – never American
You roamed the planet
Looking for a home.
We walked together for a short time
And it was a good walk then …
But you needed something,
Which you could never define
And like a prisoner you began your
Searching and wandering …
You left your family …
You travelled far …
Like a gypsy month
Going from flower to flower …
Until, you were shot down by your heart
Not more than a month ago …
And then,
You seemed to be the boy that we all knew,
I’m happy you made peace your son
Happy sailing …
May your skies always be clear.

(c) G.s.k. ’14

voli a casa compagno del cammino nel vuoto – pace