Tanka Sequence

Shared paths

 

dusty tracks

crisscross the asphalt ...

what creatures

walk these paths at night

where I walk by day

 

a robin

by this woodland trail ...

nestled in grasses

then gone in a flash

before my camera click

 

yellow jackets

swarm on the same blooms

I want to touch—

if we ignore each other

can we really coexist

 

bones, teeth, tusks

of Columbian mammoths

excavated

from this very ground

beneath my human feet

 

    —the Waco [Texas] Mammoth National Monument

—Earth: Our Common Ground (anthology, Skylark Publishing), 2017

Announcement: KYSO Flash HTP Contest Results

Recently, I received the surprising news of winning first place in the HTP Contest, a joint haibun and tanka prose competition administered by Clare MacQueen, editor/publisher extraordinaire of the innovative KYSO Flash online journal. To read my piece, "Approximations," as well as the other winning entries plus the semifinalist and publisher's choice entries, follow this link.

For commentaries by Matthew Paul, judge, follow this link.

Many thanks to Clare and Matthew!

Tanka Sequence

Homegrown 

for Sandy 

for years 
she couldn't venture 
into the garden— 
there, on the paving stones, 
is where she found him 

resurrecting 
the raised tomato bed 
plant by plant, 
she sinks her fists deep 
into dark compost 

Lily, 
her gardening dog, 
at her side ... 
a bounty of earthworms 
and a small patch of peace  

—Skylark, 3:2, Winter 2015

Strolling the streets; the shift

strolling the streets

of the happiest place

in America ...

had I remembered

I would have worn a grin

~ San Luis Obispo, California, USA, August 2013

—Skylark 2:2, winter 2014

It actually was a happy place. I'd happily visit again!

the shift

in my disposition

when I notice

that train is carrying

The Greatest Show on Earth

~railroad crossing, Waller County, Texas, USA

—Atlas Poetica, 20, January 2015

A long, sleek, spotless train, no graffiti. As an adult, I tend to be a little bothered by the notion of circuses (some might say "The Cruelest Show on Earth"?). Yet for a few moments, I felt something magical as that train transported me back. 

Note: Earlier this month, performing elephants were officially retired from the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus, ending a 145-year tradition.

A tree frog

a tree frog

clings to the rain gauge ...

lingering drought

—Presence, issue 54, 2016

No drought here recently but, instead, torrential rains (not long ago, 20 inches in a day or two). This little frog, or one of its relatives, often hangs around our gauge, especially during extreme weather conditions, it seems.

Too stunning

too stunning
for a simple pasture
the horns
of these longhorn cattle
curve up into the sky

—kernels, Spring 2013 (premier issue) 

at a nearby ranch

Fine creatures, especially up close. I hate to reflect upon their fate.

She warns me; I cringe

A couple more kyoka, or kyoka-like tanka, from Prune Juice:

she warns me
not to let the cat get out,
her old Persian
that barely even moves
an inch an hour

I cringe
at my reflection . . .
the charm
with which he offers
to bash out all our mirrors

—Prune Juice, Issue 9, July 2012

See "Kyoka vs. Tanka - examples" by M. Kei at his Kujaku Poetry & Ships blog. 

Months later; nonstop footage

Time to pull these poems out again while it's still the peak of the season here on the Gulf coast. Not counting the recent rage of Isaac, the 2012 season has been on the quiet side. Seven years ago, deadly Katrina missed us in the Houston area. But three years later, Ike pretty much came right for us; interesting times.

months later
he still clutches
the bowling ball—
all he could salvage
after Katrina

Hurricane Katrina, late Aug. 2005
—Wisteria, July 2006; Haiku News, Oct. 2009; Take Five, Vol 2

nonstop footage
of surge-battered homes

.....near our back door

.....a small displaced turtle
.....retreats into its shell

Hurricane Ike, Sept. 13, 2008

—Moonset, Spring-Summer 2009; Haiku News, Oct. 2009; Take Five, Vol 2

Am happy I came across my photos of the actual little turtle I describe here—and hope it found its way.

Just as I'd hoped

just as I'd hoped
for a better day
face-to-face
with the local possum
hissing through its teeth

—A Hundred Gourds, March 2012

Midsummer 2011. Already, I'm ready for 2012. Record heat, record drought—and things would only get worse in the weeks to come. Still trying to sell this home, this perfectly decent home, for much longer than I care to admit to anyone. Living a life in transit: each week, back and forth from the old place to the new one up north. Whenever my cell rings, I jump. Often, it's the showing service, informing me that someone wants to see our house within the next hour or so; time to do a superficial clean-and-freshen. The same song keeps repeating itself; I'm stuck in my own Groundhog Day.

This afternoon, with forced optimism, I step outside. And there he is on the concrete breezeway, just a few feet from me, his teeth bared. We've seen him a few times during the past couple of years, though never before in the afternoon, never this close. Once a fine creature, now he's scraggly, perhaps emaciated. I run back inside while he turns and saunters off into the back yard, a bent elderly man down on his luck.