tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37735731804988067132024-03-05T11:11:41.424-05:00Miller's PondThe poetry of H. Gene MurthaAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09342552431223482012noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773573180498806713.post-89805540467701558362013-12-07T09:48:00.001-05:002013-12-10T17:14:13.213-05:00Biding Time, selected poems by: h. gene murtha<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
BIDING TIME, selected poems by: H. Gene Murtha</div>
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Biding Times, is a collection of poetry: haiku, senryu, tanka and haibun. A collection compiled between 2001 and 2013. Over 115 poems within the perfect bound covers. This is a limited first run, accompanied by an audio CD. Orders are being accepted now, through PayPal, account number: gmu9240555 (at) yahoo (dot) com</div>
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No spaces (gmu9240555@yahoo.com). Prices are for the book and CD. $15.00 within the USA. $17.00 Canada and Mexico. $19.00 Overseas, to reserve your copy. If you would rather send a Money Order, that is fine just contact me for the information </div>
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Biding Time will hit the streets June, 2014.</div>
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biding time</div>
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spit drips down</div>
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the thistle</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09342552431223482012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773573180498806713.post-58782399228030586072012-01-28T16:42:00.000-05:002012-01-28T16:42:11.274-05:00Haiku News<div>
If anyone is in the Philadelphia, Camden, NJ. area, March, Saturday, March 3, 2012.</div>
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Tom Painting will be presenting a haiku workshop from 10:00 a.m to 3:00 p.m. at</div>
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the Sacred Heart Church cafeteria, 1739 Ferry Ave., Camden, NJ 08104.</div>
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</div>
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Fees: $10.00 per person, which includes lunch. Anyone who plans to attend, and</div>
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would like to have their work considered for workshop, submit up to 3 haiku by</div>
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February 16, 2012 to Michele L. Robinson: robinson(dot)m(dot)l(at)comcast(dot)net</div>
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</div>
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Register by February 16, 2012. Please send a $10.00 check with contact information</div>
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to: Mary Heron, 824 Widener Road, Elkins Park, PA. 19027.</div>
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</div>
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Questions, email Mary H. Heron at:</div>
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</div>
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mhheron(at)verizon(dot)net</div>
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</div>
<div>
After the workshop, the NVHA is offering a tour of the Waterfront South Arts District.</div>
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</div>
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Note: donations are always welcome. Annual Membership is $10.00 per year, Lifetime</div>
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Membership is $50.00, a onetime fee.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09342552431223482012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773573180498806713.post-39967978209418594662011-07-18T13:22:00.000-04:002011-07-18T13:22:55.430-04:00for the Nick Virgilio Haiku Assoc.originally written during the Virgilio Memorial Reading, June 2006, & a tanka:<br />
<br />
memorial reading:<br />
in between Walt Whitman<br />
and Virgilio<br />
an egret, steadfast--<br />
pure white & nakedAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09342552431223482012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773573180498806713.post-24244533276286319102011-04-11T11:20:00.001-04:002011-04-26T13:04:56.618-04:00tanka<div align="left">
we lean </div>
into one another's <br />
broken parts <br />
a pair of thrush <br />
rebuild their nest <br />
<br />
<br />
*for Inky <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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</div>
<br />
alone <br />
gazing out upon <br />
the breakwater <br />
everything I've lost <br />
everything I've birthed<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
sharing love <br />
with another child <br />
I count <br />
the different shapes <br />
of each snowflake<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
an iris<br />
trapped in a vase <br />
like love<br />
there are things <br />
we never wanted<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="left">
</div>
<br />
knapsack <br />
and cane pole <br />
I search <br />
the pond's edge <br />
for an answer <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="left">
</div>
<br />
a hopi carves <br />
the kachina from cottonwood <br />
my roots too <br />
are plucked like shavings <br />
from the whittler's knife <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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</div>
note: the Hopi are an south western Native American Tribe, a Kachina is a doll.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09342552431223482012noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773573180498806713.post-22881689207548869882010-06-17T06:30:00.000-04:002010-07-12T23:18:05.943-04:00Barry George, Wrecking Ball & other Urban Haiku**NEW<br /><br />Dear fellow haiku poets & friends:<br /><br />I am proud to announce the publication of my chapbook; <strong><em>Wrecking Ball & other Urban Haiku </em></strong>from Accents Publishing. A haiku chronicle of the seasons in my home city, Philadelphia, it collects poems that have appeared in haiku journal in recent years, with some new poems as well.<br /><br />Perfect bound, 30 haiku, 30 pages; just $5 dollars. Reviewed in the current edition of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Frogpond</span>.<br /><br />It is available from the publisher Accent Publishing: <a href="http://www.accents-publishing.com/">http://www.accents-publishing.com/</a>, from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/">http://www.amazon.com/</a>. or from me:<br /><br />Barry George<br />2011 Chestnut st., #11G<br />Philadelphia, Pa. 19103<br /><br />($5 plus $1 shipping & handling, within the USA). Please make Check out to: Barry George.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09342552431223482012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773573180498806713.post-8678536304422029412009-12-26T04:50:00.000-05:002009-12-26T04:54:52.840-05:00when you thinkwhen you think<br />you've heard it all--<br />brown thrasher<br /><br />The Heron's Nest 11:4Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09342552431223482012noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773573180498806713.post-54349947107977337662009-10-24T11:50:00.000-04:002009-10-24T11:53:09.862-04:00haiku, Acorn # 23, fall 2009new moon. . .<br />an old woman speaks<br />of the emptiness<br /><br />ancient trail<br />footprints fade<br />with the dewAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09342552431223482012noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773573180498806713.post-53702005569638089232009-09-09T14:09:00.000-04:002009-09-17T13:52:07.348-04:00haikunoon whistle--<br />a candy bar<br />snaps in two<br /><br />Megapoets, Issue 4, July 2009<br /><br /><br /><br />harvest moon<br />the prayer beads<br />worn smooth<br /><br /><br />Acorn 22, Spring 2009Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09342552431223482012noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773573180498806713.post-25833553069860227702009-07-30T10:22:00.000-04:002009-07-30T10:24:16.533-04:00tankabrushing off sand<br />I walk what's left of<br />the pine dunes<br />my time here passes by<br />like the birds overhead<br /><br />Ribbons 5:2, 2009Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09342552431223482012noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773573180498806713.post-88051361012735184012009-07-10T07:04:00.000-04:002009-07-10T08:06:57.860-04:00Red Moon Press: A New Resonance 6, 2009If anyone is interested, I have copies available at cost, $10 each, which includes shipping and the poetry of:<br /><br />Alan Burns, Glenn G. Coats, Susan Constable, Kristen Deming, David Grayson, Andrea Grillo, Paul Hodder, Jorgen Johansson, Eve Luckring, Bob Lucky, Scott Mason, Me [h. gene murtha], Roland Packer, Michele Root-Bernstein, Jeff Stillman, Richard S. Straw, & Tony A. Thompson.<br /><br />If anyone happens to be a The Heron's Nest fan, I am pleased to tell you that of the 15 haiku of mine that were selected for NR6, 11 haiku were originally published at the Nest 2002 through 2008.<br /><br />If you are interested, email me "h g murtha @ gmail . com" No Spaces. I do accept PayPal, cash or check, and I will send you the information.<br /><br />I think that I can count on one finger the number of times that Jim Kacian did not attend the same Haiku Society of America meeting that I have, so, I will not be packing copies of NR6 to any upcoming events. Hey, Jim has a business to run. . .so, I am sure that everyone understands.<br /><br /><br />Always,<br /><br />GeneAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09342552431223482012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773573180498806713.post-35035920298298054162009-07-07T21:14:00.000-04:002009-07-09T10:19:45.820-04:00Recent haikusnowed in . . .<br />fire wraps<br />around a log<br /><br />The Heron's Nest v.10:1, March 2008<br />A New Resonance 6, Red Moon Press 2009<br /><br /><br />spring —<br />the pause before<br />she pulls a sapling<br /><br />The Heron's Nest v.10:2, June 2008<br />A New Resonance 6, Red Moon Press 2009<br /><br /><br />steady drizzle<br />strand by strand<br />a robin’s nest<br /><br />The Heron's Nest vol.10:3, Sept. 2008<br /><br /><br />morning chill<br />a child’s shadow<br />moves thru mine<br /><br />The Heron's Nest vol.10:4, Dec. 2008<br />A New Resonace 6, Red Mood Press 2009<br /><br /><br />starry night . . .<br />a worn phone number<br />in the handbook<br /><br />for Bill, Wm. J. Higginson<br />The Heron's Nest vol.11:1, March 2009 Memorial section.<br /><br /><br />originally written:<br /><br />fresh snow<br />the things we do<br />no one speaks of<br /><br />published as:<br /><br />fresh snow<br />the things to do<br />no one speaks of<br /><br />Mainichi, Daily Haiku Selection, March 13, 2009<br /><br /><br />if purple<br />were my color . . .<br />twilight snow<br /><br />The Heron's Nest vol.11:2, June 2009<br /><br /><br />subway wall. . .<br />a poem about<br />butterflies<br /><br />Asahi Weekly #1871, Sunday, June 7, 2009Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09342552431223482012noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773573180498806713.post-13502617168979825492009-07-05T19:20:00.000-04:002009-10-11T22:38:19.237-04:00recent tankamy finger<br />traces the edge<br />of her lips<br />around the curve<br />a new adventrure<br /><br /><em>Tanka Splender Award 2008</em><br /><em>Take Five, tanka anthology ed. M. Kei, 2009 Met Press</em><br /><br />just as<br />I pull myself from<br />gutter to curb<br />all things dear to me<br />can be found in a swamp<br /><br /><br />the sound<br />of a broken bottle swept<br />across asphalt<br />like the cry of a child<br />you have given away<br /><br />for Katherine Cudney<br /><br /><em>Ribbons vol. 4:3, 2008</em><br /><em></em><br />drunk<br />lying in my<br />own piss--<br />from the bedroom<br />my son's voice<br /><br /><em>Ribbons vol.4:4, 2008</em><br /><br /><em></em>people change<br />like the color<br />of a bunting<br />I feel at peace<br />when I'm alone<br /><br />Sunday morning<br />reading the obituaries<br />calling daddy<br />the same name<br />Sylvia Plath does<br /><br />sober<br />she asks me to<br />come home<br />I pierce a badger's claw<br />then hang it from my ear<br /><br />Rusty Tea Kettle, vol.1:1, January 2009<br /><br /><p></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09342552431223482012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773573180498806713.post-87710068589469004632009-01-31T06:47:00.000-05:002009-01-31T20:48:31.951-05:00Carole MacRury: In the Company of Crows_____________________NEWS RELEASE FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: January, 2009 ACCLAIMED POINT ROBERTS POET CAROLE MACRURY PUBLISHES FIRST BOOK ‘In the Company of Crows’ combines haiku, tanka to celebrate life on the northern Washington coast. The first collection of poetry by award-winning poet Carole MacRury, of Point Roberts, Wash. (USA), was released December 15, 2008. In the Company of Crows: HAIKU and TANKA Between the Tides brings together more than 200 haiku, tanka, and poem sequences with 23 hauntingly beautiful sumi-e illustrations created by internationally acclaimed artist Ion Codrescu. The 160-page, soft-cover edition features a foreword by Beverley George, president of the Australian Haiku Society and the editor of Eucalypt, Australia’s first literary journal devoted entirely to tanka. Currently the secretary/treasurer of the Tanka Society of America, MacRury has had her haiku and tanka published in literary journals, anthologies, and online in the U.S., Canada, and overseas, as well as received numerous awards for her work, including the Tanka Splendor Award. “Carole’s gift for vivid imagery links with expressions of human experience and emotion to produce poems that resemble ‘short songs’—the literal translation of the word ‘tanka,’” writes George in her foreword. “This poet can write at the cutting edge of life,” she continues with respect to MacRury’s haiku - “the clarity of her images and the accuracy of her word choices are signatures of a mind that engages with the natural world with eyes wide open and a blend of curiosity and awe.” … “In the Company of Crows is a worthy collection that merits wide readership.” “Over the years, I’ve learned that nothing stays the same; I can’t go back and recreate a moment,” says MacRury. “Haiku and tanka allow me to celebrate the moods and memories evoked by the seasons through special moments that seem imbued with significance,” she says. “Haiku and tanka also have the marvelous ability to transcend cultures, as the human condition becomes recognizable to all of us who share the planet.”Artist Codrescu is a poet and editor in his own right. An illustrator of more than 100 books, whose graphic works grace private and state collections in many countries, he is the founder of the Constantza Haiku Society and the Constantza International Haiku Festival and author of 10 books published in Romania, France, the U.K., and Slovenia. He also was the founder and editor of the highly praised poetry journal Hermitage. Codrescu resides in Constanta, Romania.In the Company of Crows was published by Black Cat Press (BCP), of Eldersburg, Md. (USA). Cathy Drinkwater Better, BCP co-owner—with her husband, Doug Walker—edited and designed the book. An award-winner poet and journalist, and a book author, Better’s work has been published in the U.S., Canada, and abroad since 1969. She works as a newspaper editor and columnist, and a freelance writer. She has authored more than 50 books, including three collections of haiku, a humor collection, and numerous children’s books.In the Company of Crows: HAIKU and TANKA Between the Tides is currently available exclusively through the author. The retail price is $18.00 postage-paid. For media inquiries or to arrange an interview with the author, contact: Carole MacRury at <a href="mailto:macrury@whidbey.com">macrury@whidbey.com</a> or Cathy Drinkwater Better (Walker) at Black Cat Press: by e-mail at <a href="mailto:cbetter@juno.com">cbetter@juno.com</a>. For information on ordering In the Company of Crows, contact: Carole MacRury <a href="mailto:macrury@whidbey.com">macrury@whidbey.com</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09342552431223482012noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773573180498806713.post-46139015836459729872008-12-24T15:03:00.000-05:002008-12-25T07:49:43.426-05:00Happy Holiday's Everyone!To a wonderful & safe holiday & a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">fruitful</span> 2009, with love, prosperity, & of course muse!<br /><br />waxwings<br />exchange rose hips--<br />Christmas morning<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />originally published, The Heron's NestAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09342552431223482012noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773573180498806713.post-9565483869603191292008-12-10T14:33:00.000-05:002008-12-10T14:51:11.014-05:00Poems of Myself: 10/19/1955-10/19/2055<strong><em>Directions</em></strong><br /><strong><em></em></strong><br />Let us walk for awhile. Bring along the pick ax, spade and knapsack hanging in the shed. You will find them on your right just inside the split barn door.<br /><br />Walk through the trellis in the rear garden, it is the trailhead that leads through the forest. Be careful, there are roots to your left sticking up from the grade from an old pin oak—I don't want you to spill me, well, not yet.<br /><br />Follow the trail until two paths merge, then stop. Take the pick and break up the hard pan. You will find ribbons of clay and sand. Mix them together with the shovel to create loam.<br /><br />Add the ashes from the velvet bag that you will find inside the sack, this will improve the soil too. If you feel inclined to say something over my remains, then, that is fine, but it is not important, since you have done enough.<br /><br />It will be spring soon. Already, you can hear the chickadees.<br /><br /><br />recycle day<br />a washed out worm<br />in the rain puddle<br /><br /><br /><strong><em>To Whom This May Concern</em></strong><br /><strong><em></em></strong><br />To whom this may concern:<br /><br />While I watch the magistrate falter crumbling fields of reveriea halo of blackened clouds float overtures, where once a firefly flickered--Whose children taunt children killing children of Santee and Columbine Whose parents weaken gun control Whose parents leave gun unsupervised and obtainable Whose little girls abort and abandon babiesWhose parent's kill little girls in the name of righteousness,with there red panties and pink lipstick. Who carry picket signs of wordswritten by boredom,parading activists, and singing songs of saintly tunes. And in the melting mindsthat leap from tree to tree, building to building. In a haze of Crack, Angeldustic-ecstasy Where my mind went mad from fermented potato-mash,PCP, Rag, Jazz and Blues--Where blue skies once sailed endless from sea to sea. Shimmy in minds of the pretenders' Tangled in dreams and lovers. Who's shadow know the darkness of these concessions met by the mandate. Who cut trees, cut trees Who kill the ozone, kill the ozone. Who's world has withered, in this desecration abomination, of these the avian ... Who use petroleum base and plastics killing fish animal and man, Whose entre of atmosphere, enter our water, dissolving in our food, and destroys the sperm count of our youth. Whose artifical estrogen will conquer Nations. Yes, this is true! and the in saecula saeculorum of these songs: Birds do not sing for our ears! For whom a disease, monkey's developed,AIDS, have made the hetero shy, and the anus of a gay man sincere. Where Cholera showed in an Ocean City Bay, and What's killing the Brants in Forsythe? Where West-nile is strong enough to kill a horse Whose State sprays for Lyme disease-- Killing fish reptile and birds, Whose carcasses are devoured by raptors Who have endangered the Timber Rattler' Who keep building and building and to my wonderment...Where will we get water when all the Jersey spungs are dry... Am I barking at the moon? Whose moon is leaving the earth's grasp While environmentalist take the Utility dollar Who's consumers sponsor said pay offs'And are the main pollutant and fossil fuel user. Who write opinions on paper and glass, Tagging walls of steal and stone-- That no god would know, nor a poet would write. And to know the deaf ear can hearAnd to know the dumb tongue cans speak, Where they, the blind, need no eyes to see.<br /><br /><strong><em>haiku</em></strong><br /><strong><em></em></strong><br />forty-six years<br />writing my name<br />yellow in snow<br /><br />July 4th —<br />small talk over beer<br />with a redcoat<br /><br />morning sun —<br />fish scales glisten<br />in the otter scat<br /><br />shooting star —<br />father’s ring<br />slips off my finger<br /><br />Indian summer<br />a bee bounces around<br />in the beer can<br /><br />cancer ward--<br />a get-well balloon<br />in the trash<br /><br />Berlin Wall<br />a smooth stone<br />in my pocket<br /><br />quiet pond<br />a stone turning<br />in my palm<br /><br />talk of devorce<br />two starlings<br />back to back<br /><br />fishing<br />where my brother stood —<br />twilight chill<br /><br />snowed in . . .<br />fire wraps<br />around a logAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09342552431223482012noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773573180498806713.post-65473288931730924182008-08-26T08:35:00.000-04:002009-01-02T07:45:25.397-05:00Poems for Derek Michael July 9, 1997-<strong><em>Batteries Not Included</em></strong><br /><br />Christmas is such a joke every year: approaching middle-age you'd think that I would read the text of the package before purchasing something and include the correct size batteries for each present. At day break, I rush to get dressed, brush my teeth, put on a baseball cap to hide my bed-hair, hop in my pickup and rush to the local <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">WaWa</span> with a list of all the battery sizes that I need, before our child's face grows long with disappointment.<br /><br /><br />dim light ...<br />in her night-stand drawer<br />a cold vibrator<br /><br /><br /><strong><em>Dinosaur and Dragon Bones</em></strong><br /><br /><br />This weekend is going to be different; my four year old will head the expedition in a quest for dinosaur and dragon bones. Our bellies are full; we're well clothed so we won't be hunting butterflies and birds. We empty the backpack full of cap guns and water pistols, and replace them with small picks, trowel, sifter, basting brush and any useful kitchen utensil we can find.<br /><br />Just as we break camp, I spot a scarlet tanager and Derek said it was a parrot. We continue down the path until we reach the verge overlooking a deep pit. As we follow the grade adjusting to the terrain, rocks start to slide, unearthing a flat piece of yellow quartz, triangle shaped, with one side notched inward-out, like a canine. Derek convinced me it belongs to a T. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">rex</span>. The sun is high; sweat <em>stunk-down</em> the hair covering our napes and sideburns, collecting in the blue and white <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">bandannas</span> tied loosely around our necks.<br /><br />On the way to the ancient forest, we found pitch pine and sassafras saplings. Dug them up. Replanting them, well spaced—for proper growth.<br /><br />*bedtime story<br />the child never<br />stops talking<br /><br /><br /><strong><em>haiku</em></strong><br /><strong><em></em></strong><br /><strong><em></em></strong><br />the gleam<br />in a child's eyes—<br />starlings shift direction<br /><br /><br />first light<br />I pretend to shave<br />my son’s lathered face<br /><br /><br />morning dew<br />I trace my son's<br /><span style="color:#ffffcc;">___</span><span style="color:#000000;">lifeline</span><br /><br /><br /><strong><em><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">tanka</span></em></strong><br /><br /><br />home from work<br />he asks me: did you<br />have a drink today?<br />two arms tighten<br />around my waist<br /><br /><br /><br />Contemporary <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">haibun</span> On-line vol.1:3 December 2005, Lynx vol. 23:2 June 2008,<br />Hermitage 1:1, 2004, The Heron's Nest vol. 5:5 2003, The Heron's Nest vol. 7:1 2005<br />Hermitage 3, 2006<br /><br />Note: *the haiku was originally <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">published</span> as:<br /><br />bedtime story<br />the child never<br />stops stalking<br /><br />Which was a typo on my part within the submission.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09342552431223482012noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773573180498806713.post-46832715414127621262008-08-21T08:27:00.000-04:002008-08-26T09:24:46.122-04:00Poems for Jacob Ryan<em>-Jacob Ryan Murtha, stillborn, Memorial Day weekend, May 26, 1996</em><br /><br /><strong><em></em></strong><br /><strong><em>Miller's Pond</em></strong><br /><br /><br />Jacob avoided everything from the start:<br /><br />All the easy stuff I could have shawn him<br />from the saw-tooth edge of an alder leaf<br /><span style="color:#ffffff;">.....</span><span style="color:#000000;">to casting a lazy fly rod at Miller's.</span><br /><br />I never wanted him...perhaps he knew.<br />Never could see myself as a parent,<br /><span style="color:#ffffcc;">.....</span><span style="color:#000000;">or felt the need to be a letdown.</span><br /><br />While Linda carried him, I was happy for them.<br />Watching her third finger trace his body<br /><span style="color:#ffffcc;">.....</span><span style="color:#000000;">squirming in her belly.</span><br /><br />After I delivered him, I held him just so<br />brushing back brown hair from his cold,<br />limp-still body, and sketched those features<br /><span style="color:#ffffcc;">.....</span><span style="color:#000000;">that were mine.</span><br /><br />When in thought, I find myself on a bank<br />at Miller's Pond, where mallards dabble,<br />a hooded merganser dives<br /><span style="color:#ffffcc;">.....</span><span style="color:#000000;">and not until it surfaces</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ffffcc;">..........</span><span style="color:#000000;">do I breath.</span><br /><br /><br /><strong><em>Jacob's Song</em></strong> a lullaby<br /><br />life's full of joy<br />baby boy it would be<br />the nursery was made<br />by my wife and me<br /><br />the toys and the cloths<br />tucked away in his room<br />baby would play<br />while in his mother's womb<br /><br />the day would come<br />he'd play no more<br />tears showered our eyes<br />cascading to the floor<br /><br />an angel emerged<br />from this tragedy<br />I'm sure Jacob watches over<br />my wife and me<br /><br /><br /><strong><em>haiku</em></strong><br /><br /><br />dawn<br />caught in a dewdrop—<br />the empty swing<br /><br /><br />spring mist—<br />a mallard paddles<br />through our stillborn's ashes<br /><br /><br />Memorial Day—<br />a layer of dust<br />cover's the urn<br /><br /><br />spring rain<br />a child's ashes<br />mix with clay<br /><br /><br /><strong><em>tanka series </em></strong>untitled<br /><br /><br />dusting<br />his brass urn<br />I walk to<br />the bedroom's far wall<br />and straighten our photo<br /><br />dreams of<br />how I never wanted you<br />your ashes<br />sift through my fingers<br />so many tiny bones<br /><br />I look<br />to the constellation<br />count each star<br />one by one<br />then, name you<br /><br /><br />© 1996-2008 Memorial Day, Golden Swamp Warbler Press, The Heron's Nest, The<br />Valentine Award Issue of THN, Temps Libre, Mad Poet's Review & HermitageAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09342552431223482012noreply@blogger.com4