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.

Golden-winged; setting up

golden-winged

a small bird skims

the ocean,

dipping into the blue

for bits of sustenance

~ Southern Caribbean Sea

setting up

for a Sunday jazz brunch

in the park—

overhead, the notes

of wild parakeets

~ Ft Lauderdale, Florida

—both in Atlas Poetica, #22, Summer 2015

A fleeting feeling

a fleeting feeling
of permanence—
my feet set
on this parking lot
of steaming concrete

—Streetlights, Poetry of Urban Life in Modern English Tanka, 2009

A cool front recently stormed through, meaning that the highs were "only" in the upper 80s. But I suspect we'll have quite a few more days of steaming concrete before autumn truly sets in. 

Jumpin' in: from the freeway

from the freeway
linking farmland to city
no scenic views,
just a few mountains
painted on an RV 

—American Tanka, #20, January 2012

How many times we've traveled that route between city and country and back again, especially during the stressful, years-long transition from Houston to the secluded rustic community where we now live. Above: my first tanka published in 2012, after I'd emerged from a writing hiatus. Well, during my break—lasting a couple of years or so—I suppose I produced a handful or two of poems, but many of them were flimsy or clunky. Since then, it's taken a while to find my way back. Maybe someday I'll see mountains, though, granted, not in this part of the world—at most, some gently rolling hills here and there.