Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

The drought continues. What roared through verdant channels now trickles. The lion’s roar is a kitten’s purr. Empty space calls forth a steady blankness.

Haiku flow easily enough. Tanka pour out with little difficulty.

But haibun?

I am William Shakespeare from “Shakespeare in Love,” lying on his apothecary’s couch, saying, “I’ve lost my gift.” The muse hisses at my pleas, muttering about what happened to my belief in practice. She’s right. I’ve scarecly lifted the gel-ink, push-button writer’s pen I bought at stables to write haibun in my refillable journals. The promises of “haibun hour” I’ve made, I break.

Thus, now that I go to the well, I find only dust emerging from a rickety bucket.


even in the cold

cricket songs

UPDATE: I’m hosting Haibun Monday (9/27/21) today over at dVerse, where we write about writer’s block!

The Pub is open! Come join us!

Categories: haikai, haiku community

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29 replies »

  1. You speak with eloquence of “losing your gift”. The old bard left us with no many great words and phrases. What a gift he had! No doubt your muse will arise once again, filled with wit and wisdom!

    Liked by 1 person

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