Hoar’s whisperer

Hoar Frost, West Yorkshire.

The world is new this morning as my breath blows small clouds into being. They form briefly then disappear into the thin cold air. Such cloud making is a deep life affirmation. Nothing quite like seeing your own breath. Days like this tingle you alive.

The trees are glistening with early sun dancing on the hoar frosted branches. Crystals winking magic at me. It is a wonderland and I am awestruck by it’s beauty. I am aware of the blessing of life. The privilege I am gifted. I breathe in, deeply and smile.

breath in and breath out

winter’s silent rhythm sounds~

frozen in the now

 

submission for dVerse Haibun Prompt Shimo no koe~ first frost

 

 

 

what i did on my holidays.

Hello all. It is Toni once again on the Haibun Trail. Summer is slowly winding down and this morning, there was a tad bit of cool in the air – which has long since dissipated! My prompt for you all today, will hopefully make you smile and take you back to middle or high school….what did you do on your summer vacation?

Summer 1982. I’m thumbing my way through stacks of vinyl encased in cardboard sleeves. Albums. Sometimes I’m stopped by the band name. Black Sabbath. Thin Lizzy. Lynryrd Skynyrd. Anything here to add to the collection? Other times it is the album artwork that grabs my attention and today I pull out a square that looks like a chalked on blackboard. I’m drawn to the imagery and to the title. ‘What we did on my our holiday s’ by Fairport Convention. It was a band I’d heard of but not listened to. I bought it.

Back in my room at the student halls of residence I slid the vinyl out of the album cover and then out of the paper inner. Carefully. Handling the record by it’s edges and smelling that fresh pressed vinyl smell I sat the album on the deck. Something so satisfying about lining up the hole with the rod. Gently I placed the needle on the edge of this groove spiral and retreated to the optimum listening space. The pre-music crackle piqued my anticipation and from the opening picked guitar and Sandy’s vocal I was entranced.

soundtrack of summer

bathed in music medicine

harmony’s embrace

 

 

Bob knew

This morning at Real Toads Margaret offers us an Artistic Interpretation prompt titled ‘small town inspiration’

I have chosen this image from Peggy Viera as my foundation for a Haibun.

Peggy Viera Link (1923-2004) Wash Day, 2009, Oil

 

Bertha had been born in that house, built to accommodate the mill workers, and had lived there since 1927. She had worked in the mill as did everyone on the street at that time and now she was happy in her dotage, with grandchildren to watch over as they played on the delph, the open patch of land which was used by the community whose houses surrounded it on three sides. When the developers moved in the 1980’s the community objected. Fiercely. A long battle through the courts commenced. In the end Bertha’s photographs of the washing lines back in the day won the case. Common land. Proof of historical use. You can’t build here. It would be some more years before the builders, who held onto the land regardless, went into liquidation and the community whip-round paid for it’s purchase. The Delph is now a village green and protected for generations to come. Thanks to Bertha’s washing lines.

 

blowing in the wind

washing lines in the spring time

the answer my friend

 

The Delph Today

Some years later new developers returned only this time for the Mill Pond land which lay behind the houses of Windsor Road.

They met with the same resistance and with the same fate.

Wanna play ‘where’s the scribbler?’

Lily

Just to write. To create form from the formless. To somehow step aside from oneself and allow what is there to just be. With no thought for outcome or for response. Just write. How do I open to the flow? How do I write with no judgement? How do I select words? Watch yourself getting in the way. How disciplined must I be to catch myself always? Even now a subtle thought arises that this is good observation. Catch it. This is. Neither good. Nor bad. This is. There is a desire in the way. One that is at the root of my practice of spilling words from the void. My desire is to understand. Somehow when I attempt to understand out loud and in plain sight through scribbling I am doing so from a vulnerable place. Honest.

trying to express

that inexpressible form

sound of a lily

 

 

skye

At dVerse this evening it’s Haibun Monday.  My favourite.

Our host is Toni, kanzensakura  and here is her prompt.

Today, I’d like you to write about singing along with your music and driving.  Off on a trip, off on vacation, soothing yourself and just driving at night, driving out your anger or your grief, shared a few songs with a friend?

Let’s keep the haibun classic (please, no poems or “westernized” writings) with one paragraph and a haiku – not a senryu, or three line micropoem, or American sentence.  I want us to keep this clean and classic.  Also if you like, print out the lyrics to your favorite song or embed a video as well so we can sing along with you, cry with you, laugh with you, take this job and shove it with you.

Dawn came quietly and with majesty, illuminating my bed in the ‘old bus.’ My friend Maria and her partner had offered me this berth for the night after our community drum circle on day two of DrumTrek here on the island of Skye. Too late to drive away and anyways, the craic was good. We ate a breakfast that only dear friends could with silence and smiles, fresh coffee and memories. Then I hit the road to Edinburgh. But first I had to get off the Island. She rose up to meet me this morning, all blue mountain and blankets of cloud, and sang a song of soul deep into my bones. I didn’t have music playing but in my head I could hear Davy.

The pipes are calling

deep ancestral vibrations

summer of my life

Notes: I filmed much of DrumTrek, both the drum circles and the road ahead with a view to one day making a film/writing the story. On my return I edited a short piece of the Skye footage and added a track of Davy Spillane’s. So whilst I wasn’t singing out loud from my mouth this day I was in a moment of pure bliss, deeply connected to the mystery, and I could hear this music in my mind as I drove. I hope you enjoy it.

Music: Midnight Walker: Davy Spillane

The Old Bus

Why not join us over at dVerse tonight with a Haibun of your own.

How to play:

• One paragraph, one haiku. If you need a review on writing haiku, please go to this link: https://dversepoets.com/2015/11/16/japanese-poetry-forms-twins/
• If you are multitasking writing to several prompts, please remember this is a haibun prompt and write accordingly.
• Link your haibun to Mr. Linky and also to this prompt so others can find their way here.
• Read and comment on other’s haibun. Remember, this prompt is good through the week so you are not late if you don’t immediately post.
• Check back for new entries during the week to read and enjoy.
• Have lots and lots of fun with this.

windows

Our prompt for Haibun Monday is offered by Toni

(Photograph of Francesca by me taken with Pentax Me Super and Tmax 100 film stock)

“Were it not for shadows, there would be no beauty.”
― Jun’ichirō Tanizaki, In Praise of Shadows

So…shadows is a pretty open theme. The only rules are:
• Must be written in Classic Japanese form with one to two tight paragraphs with a seasonal haiku to wrap it up.
• Must be true and have actually happened to you.
Write about shadows! The shadow knows…mwahahahahahahaaaa!

Here is how to play!
*Write your haibun and link it to this post.
*Add the link to Mr. Linky below this.
*Read and comment on others who have linked. It is how we grow our community and it is always interesting and useful to see how others responded to the prompt.
**Get to know your fellow poets better!
Post on your social media #dversepoets

And most of all, have fun!

The studio was a small room in an old warehouse. Just big enough for the two of us and the lights. It was bloody cold. The black material draped across a wooden pole served as the shadow out of which the portrait could be birthed. We improvised with a blanket that served a dual purpose. It offered a frame and it kept her blue hands from deepening that shade.

Light fell on her face as if window borne but this box was all wall. Catch lit eyes reflected something of her own shadow perhaps. It was hard to tell. I didn’t know her. I was essentially there to shoot fine art nudes but when the films were developed it was the portrait that took my breath away when it floated dreamily out of the darkroom tray to offer me a glimpse of soul.

strangers in a room

winter cold cuts to the bone

eyes burn in shadow

 

 

 

 

bush meal

Hello everyone! This is Toni at the Bar coming to you live on the First.Day.of.Spring.

So my prompt to you all today is to write, not about the best picnic you ever went on but The Best Meal You Ever Ate. Plain and simple. What is the best meal you ever ate or what is one out of the top five best meals you ever ate? I would like a one – 3 paragraph haibun with a seasonal (season word included) in the haiku to end it and bring it all together. I don’t want politics included in the meal. I’d rather we keep this politic free. So please, no politics or jibes at anyone in office.

~~~~~~~~~

Wise men talk about ideas, intellectuals about facts, and the ordinary man talks about what he eats. Mongolian Proverb

~~~~~~~~~

The fire burns bright and sparks jump and dance in the night sky. Around me I see the dark black faces of African men. The conversation is animated. Words flying faster than the fiery sparks in Arabic, Wolof, Mandinka and Djola. I am lost here in this moment and yet I can sense a deep and ancient peace present in the circle. It’s always been this way here. I am in awe of this place and my mind wanders back in time and I think deeply about this spot. About my place in it. Right now. How can I, a Mancunian born lad, be so at home in Africa?

Lost in deep thought. Pondering the meaning of my own existence. Suddenly they are up and on their feet. Shouting and pointing and before I have any chance to ask what is happening they are gone. Running into the bush. Here I sit now. Alone in Africa. Wondering. Many ideas flash through my mind.Fear skirts around the edge of my consciousness and I feel my vulnerability here raw and exposed. There is however a moment. A point in time. Me. The Fire. Africa. Big Sky. Alone. Wow.

Shouts in the distance and shadows moving out of the darkness and once more into the fire light. Here is my answer. Bush Rat. Caught and clubbed in the dark African night. It is then singed and scraped of it’s hair with a knife and placed into the fire. Water is boiled in a pot and the scorched animal is cut into pieces and placed there along with herbs and local grown vegetables. I watch and wait. The conversation continues and all eyes are on me now as one man with words in my native English  turns and explains as we sit around the communal food plate. This is good medicine, I am told. I am lucky to be here tonight. We will eat well.

wisdom embracing

this night of starlit cosmos

bush rat tasting good

~~~~~~~~~