Do not count the minutes the hours the aches of your waiting the distance of touches Do not count the weeks the months the lines around eyelids the hairs turning grey Do not count the years the decades the blinks between birthdays the fathoms of remembering
Another day... another day... another day has passed away! Weep! And rejoice! Another day comes this way!
though soon old, ripened fruits cling to limbs a breeze comes through to steal a kiss— this endless, looming summer
I returned to my old home at the beginning of the ninth month. The day lilies in my mother’s room had all been withered by the frost, and nothing was left of them now. Everything was changed from what it used to be. My brother’s hair was white at the temples, and there were wrinkles… Continue reading A Haibun by Bashō
A highway we all walk down: the old, the ugly, the young, and the beautiful. Travelling in the procession; navigating all the shit and the refuse; amidst all the booing and jeering; someone grabs our arm, tells us we are wonderful... and the pageant is glorious!
When I was young, a fortune-teller told me that an old woman who wanted to die had accidentally become lodged in my body. Slowly, over time, and taking great care in following esoteric instructions, including lavender baths and the ritual burying of keys in the backyard, I rid myself of her presence. Now I am… Continue reading Personalia (Mary Reufel)
Under an old oak tree a husband slaps his wife’s ass. She turns her head over her shoulder, peering down at him from the slope they both lie on. “Did you like that?” he asks in a silly voice. She narrows her eyes, looking annoyed. He does it again. “How how about that? Did you… Continue reading Happy memories
Here a garden lay Its blossoms were so very sweet Soft petals—where now lie tough thistles—fell gentle onto heads of lovers who will reminisce of times we too could have known... ...though we never thought to come
They found me in a pickle jar, sweeter than I’d ever been— the sweetest shade of pickle green. My wife was salted— royal silver, like a herring. Preserved with such a noble bearing! We made a sexy modelling team: centre spreads in all the foodie magazines.
this road, once dangerous now a childrens’ playground; its most fearsome inhabitant a feather torn loose, floating gently to the ground... only other feathers hear my laughter