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breathing in

black beam white glow

breathing out

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okay folks, we're going for some very Australian haiku today...

the Vienna deli

cling wrapped lamingtons

languish on counter

Lamington: Home made cake; Australian icon (Wiki link).

And a thanks to the boys at the Vienna Deli. Their patrons, surrounds, even their much neglected hoya plants have been the inspiration for a surprising number of the haiku on this blog. No aspersions on their baked goods and I love their coffee.

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eucalypt fades

into the sky a lorikeet

darts off

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Suburban Dreaming

"Dreaming" refers to an Indigenous Australian's set of beliefs or spirituality. They might say that they have Kangaroo Dreaming, or Shark Dreaming, or Honey Ant Dreaming, or any combination of Dreamings pertinent to their 'country'. (http://www.dreamtime.net.au/index.cfm)

Kerouac and Lucy

She read On the Road when she was heading off it. After a year of backpacking Lucy was killing time on some unspectacular Thai beach, waiting for the plane ride home. At the hostel she had swapped Pride and Prejudice for a battered copy of Kerouac's novel, hunkered down on a mile of fine, white sand and got her some of that crazy beat prose. It made for a satisfying homecoming.

Ten years on, Kerouac's rambling account of Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty's hedonistic journeys across America were intimately associated with lashings of her own travel nostalgia.

still in the pages -
a Bangkok bus ticket
bookmark

Standing in the poetry section of her local bookstore, Lucy was cradling Kerouac's Book of Haikus between her hands. The pages had been pre-roughened to appeal to tactile readers. It was square and weighty; and for her, it combined an age old passion for travel with a new found love - haiku.

Once home, blanket around her shoulders, steaming cup of sweetened tea on the window sill, she began to read.

digging through
gran’s old jewellery -
small fingers

She put the book down and looked up.

Modern Tanka & Haibun Prose, Issue 1, Summer 2009

withered bird
in the leaf litter ~
paper cut

Paper Wasp, Autumn 2009

summer afternoon
the serious business
of popping bubbles

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a town or child
or corner of eye ~
stardust all!

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here's a few senryu today...

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another tantrum~
she hums
Girl from Ipanema

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two people
relying only on time
resolve differences

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And while Im in the mood for putting up stuff I like, here's "Love is in the Air" by Banksy.

"Japanese Death Poems: Written by Zen Monks and Haiku Poets on the Verge of Death" (Tuttle Publishing 1986) seems like the most unlikely of books to have been published, purchased and read for pleasure. However there's something uniquely compelling about the centuries old Japanese tradition of jitsei: composing a poem before you die.

I've only begun to flick through the pages. This is my favourite so far:


What a lark!
Swinging my arms I set off:
a winter's rainstorm.

~Osen (died 1696, aged 44)


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Gamelan

Strange leaves beneath our feet, hitting our faces, shielding us from the Balinese sun. Beetles cling to bark in the undergrowth. Something underfoot. Don’t look. Just move on. We can't have strayed too far. Everywhere squares of sunlight spring to life, then hide, again, again! Shrill cicada cries, strangely pitched, beating in our ears.

through rhythms
in the forest we wander
surprisingly, a gamelan plays

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stranger
says hello!
not to me

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son singing
in the living room; somewhere
leaves are falling

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after the rain
to each berry
a universe

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Ambrosia, Issue 3, Spring 2009

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composing haiku car steers itself

summer rain
high-rise falls
into mist

Ambrosia, Issue 3, Spring 2009

Momma














what a New York experience - perhaps calm this woman down with a joke - okay, that didn’t work - how funny - she’s pissed off now - look at her massive hands - imagine being punched in the face by a New Yorker - in the Museum of Modern Art of all places! - great story back home - better stop grinning - she really is going to hit me in a second - I’ll get this over with and just agree with her - oh you’re kidding - now I'm 'disrepecting' her? - why would such an angry woman want to visit MoMA anyway? - probably out on day release - ha! probably the only momma she’s got

not knowing
when the thunderclap
will come

Bushfire

dedicated to the folk who lost their lives in the Victorian fires...




blue sky
bushfire sears
the undergrowth








still night
only now
the smell of fire








grey sky dawn
currawong song
in the silence

on sandstone
watching water fish
fatten and fade





a woman
bears down; one shadow
becomes two




(Ruby Spriggs got there before me with her simple haiku:
"moment of birth new shadow")