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Haibun, March 2013

March 2013 


Two Small Threes By Five

 by Ron. Lavalette Barton, VT (USA)



        harvest moon after midnight 
        a haiku mandate


This is how it is for him. It’s pathetic, and even he knows it’s pathetic. He wakes up hours before daylight, fully awake with his self-imposed deadline ringing in his head: two small poems, three lines each, finished before breakfast; he just keeps thinking Two Small Threes By Five, over and over again until finally he gets himself out of bed to write them.


He thinks about where to start, takes the time to look up the phrase harvest moon—an antique phrase he’s vowed never to use in his writing—but the moonlight’s just so very present, flooding the window, shining on his desktop, and illuminating his keyboard that he feels the need to check it out and be certain. Sure enough: a harvest moon, shining on.


After the first three hard-won lines, he hits the pre-set audio and the Sandhya Raga floods the room. He’s out of incense. He’s afraid he’s out of ideas. He walks to the kitchen, makes the coffee by moonlight, steel strings still ringing in the darkness: Raga Of The Harvest Moon. He looks out the window.


        absolute perfect moon
        coffee moon keyboard moon raga moon moon 
        haiku moon, release me 



 by Adelaide B. Shaw


The autumn chores are complete. Plants cut back. The planting beds cleared of debris. Wood stacked by the back door. Container plants we want to save brought inside. Each year we ask:  how much longer can we do this? Each year we move more slowly; the clean-up takes longer; we have more aches afterwards. Knees, backs, shoulders–all complaining loudly. Each year we think about a condo.


        a sunny window– 
        begonias inside 
        a bee outside




 by Adelaide B. Shaw


 The day begins normally. Get up, do some exercise, shower, dress, make breakfast. Toaster not working. OK. No toast. Fill the washing machine not realizing that a sock falls into the tub in which the water drains. An hour later after mopping up two inches of water I put a chunk of beef in the microwave and punch defrost. Nothing. Nothing on all the controls. Check my e-mail. Two short story rejects and one haiku reject. Later in the afternoon a few errands and a flat tire. Dinner. I won’t even talk about that.


        Chopin nocturne 
        the lazy movement 
        of leaves at dusk 



 by Adelaide B. Shaw


Once more I’m down on my hands and knees creeping along the garden bed pulling weeds.  It’s an on-going spring and summer activity, never getting ahead, always playing catch-up. Weed killers or preventers have limited or no success.  What works, although only temporarily, is pulling them.


There is some pleasure in this chore.  It requires no deep concentration on the activity itself, freeing my thoughts to float on the breeze.  To think about big things–the unrest in the Middle East, unemployment, the national debt.  And, little things…


        an ant 
        crawling across my hand 
        the long journey