Something different.
I eventually came to understand that these forms are
less a way of writing than a way of seeing.
In the last eighteen months of his life, knowing he was
incurably ill, the novelist and poet Richard
Haiku, Senryu, Tanka and Sedoka
After a hard frost
Sun warming a frozen moth
To resurrection
The first fire of Fall
Oak logs snapping and splitting
Echoes of the axe
Each shares its purpose
The rain, the thirst of the hawk,
The cup of cleft stone
Snow settles softly
On the old mare’s eyelashes
Making moon-lit tears
Tonight fireflies came
And lit the cold dark spaces
Between all the stars
You will not return
Yet rain refills the wine glass
You left by the door
New snow has fallen
Nothing above or below
Has stirred across it
If you come to look for me
You will know where I have gone
Near black water's edge
A cabin leaning on legs
Towards the river
A man no one remembers
His old boat leaking moonlight
It is almost dusk
Heat shimmering in the pines
Still wet from afternoon rain
And in the distance
An old man walking carries
The setting sun on his back
Haiku by countryfog
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Written on 2010-12-12 at 13:08
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Doreen Cavazza |
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