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[with haiku by William Winslow]
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azalea in bloom
seems early this year –
what else have I missed?
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bent over and lean –
I have become the tree I
climbed in my childhood!
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Yesterday after church I carried the rocking chair out to the car. Scratches and scars from a thousand children in Mom French’s school library, this chair was just one of her oh so irresistible enticements to read – and she the most enticing of all as Mother Goose, Good Witch, Hobbit, Elementary Librarian. The rocker first retired to our church nursery and now is finally retiring home.
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As I fumbled for keys, Darlene called from across the lot, “Now Bill, you better do some rocking!”
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“Are you kidding?” I hollered as I popped the hatch. “I’ve been retired three years and I haven’t had a chance to rock yet!”
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an early morning
baptism: bluestem grasses
brush against my legs
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I’ve been here before
but these flowers are not like
those of my childhood
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I’m not rocking this morning but the feeder rocks after the chickadee scolds, then grabs a seed and pushes off. My rock-equivalent here on the porch is this: coffee and notebook at hand, a book of verse, feet up, fleece jacket and cap for 50 degrees & autumn. Two young guys down the street are hacking out busted flooring from the house that has squatted empty since last spring’s tornado. The yard crew just pulled their big trailer up next door and here come the weed-eaters & blowers & zero-turn-radius terrafirmanator. Around the corner someone is hammering. For a few minutes the breeze settles and the trees around me and all down the ridge just listen.
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music for the soul:
dog tags dancing on the rim
of a metal bowl
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forgotten clothesline
linens pop in the wind – a
restless night ahead!
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This morning the season rocks and tilts and won’t return to summer. It makes itself known even if I close eyes and plug ears – the keen edge of that scent, crisping leaves and browning forbs. When I open my eyes again I notice the beech tarnished copper, I discover an ornamentation of Virginia creeper indistinguishable green last week now stepping forward into red, and look there’s the one unfractured maple branch dressing up in its indescribable orange while new growth from the trunk still clings to some jade hope. I shove my pale fingers into my armpits between these phrases. The chickadees resume their scolding but the freshening breeze pays me no mind at all.
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not yellow brick but
wingstem and aster lead me
through this hillside field
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look, a child spattered
mustard along the roadside –
oh, yellow ironweed!
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Rocking at the tempo of breath, surrendering to the heartpulse rhythm – bustle can’t touch this. I turn another page in William Winslow’s haiku collection. Resistance is futile. My subconscious tries to push back – I don’t want to merge into your momentariness, Mr. Poet, I’ll make my own revelations, thank you! But reading haiku is like breathing. You can only hold out for so long before the pressure to inhale, before the desire to step into that cool shaded invitation. As William reminds us in his afterword, a haiku is written to be spoken in a single breath. As I stroll further down the page, pausing after each poem, often retracing my steps, my anxious breath slows and I enter the moment. Look, Darlene, I’m rocking!
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look, the centerpiece
of my garden is that tall
weed I did not plant!
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dead limb your tree no
longer needs you – it seems that
we could be brothers
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hiking stick my hands
have carved you but my legs may
send you on alone
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All selections are from 112 HAIKU by William Winslow, Palmetto Publishing, Charleston SC, © 2023. William lives in Mount Pleasant, South Carolina but spends many days in the Southern Appalachians in western North Carolina, as evident from the flavor and setting of his writing. He lived in Japan for two years and immersed himself in the culture. Of the art of haiku, he says, “Set aside some time, take a deep breath, and write yours!”
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Visit Palmetto Publishing HERE
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Next week I will attend the Tremont Writers’ Conference in Great Smoky Mountains National Park, led by poet Frank X Walker. Most likely you won’t find a post here on October 27, but take a moment that morning to silently wish my father, Wilson, a happy day on his 97th birthday. I’ll see you back here on November 3. — B
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Not a great haiku writer myself, you nailed it with this!
look, the centerpiece
of my garden is that tall
weed I did not plant!
LikeLiked by 3 people
Thanks, Jenny, and I’ll let William know you like this one. I’m always fond of haiku with a little wit or humor. Here’s one I wrote this last week (plenty of Autumn kigo):
pulling dry vines
out of the azalea
found a pumpkin
—B
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Each haiku is Insightful and complete within itself.
A pleasure to read someone loyal to the “form and structure” in which haiku were originated. (do I sound like an old man 🙂 )
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Ha ha Sam — haiku will make you young again!
I love a weekly dose of haiku and kigo knowledge at Naturalist Weekly — https://naturalistweekly.com/the-naturalistweekly-blog/ . One blog I ALWAYS read! —B
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I enjoy well crafted haiku. Not great, but why not try: Great gray white pine leans
dead crying branch tears to earth
Father planted a seedling
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Great, Les. Really covers a lot of emotions and lot of ground. —B
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Thanks, Bill!
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