Frank J. Tassone

Tag: haibun

  • A Poetic Deferral

    Sorry, can’t talk now. Frank and I are about to experience the opening celebration at the Dodge Poetry Festival 2022! Several poets will take the stage, and we are hear for it! life blood of language and culture poetry

  • This particular TGIF

    A week of conflicting priorities, restless teenagers, mounting work with pressing deadlines, and an all-consuming exhaustion ends tonight. A glimpse at the night sky to see a handful of stars visible despite the ambient light pollution. No, the universe is not agitated. Once I calm the mind through stillness, I will perceive the serenity. If…

  • Pestilent Encounters: A Traditional-Mongol-Meter #haibun

    A sudden turn in the weather, and noses begin to run… rushing toward the nearest tissue roaming the halls full of snot remember a sneeze is no issue recall a time without rot While not an apocalyptic sign, new Covid cases arise… Still we press on Stunted in our recovery Stalling for time, again and…

  • Lucid Realizations

    We stretch toward the ceiling as the music plays. We breathe through the resistance of taunt tendons and tight muscles. We tap from shoulders to knees. Autumn eve across the water shimmering light Eyes moisten in the dark. A heart, clenched in condemnation over endured powerlessness, loosens. Somehow, for the first time, an unconditional acceptance…

  • Enshadowed

    Somewhere in the dark, the wrong wolf smiles. He gorges on the warm flesh of a fresh kill. I keep tossing him easy game. Somewhere in the light, the right wolf snarles. His belly growls as the bones of his last meal crumble. I keep failing to toss him any game. Thus, my own personal…

  • Apologia

    I’m sorry. You deserved better than for me to disappear without a word. I did not intend to ghost you, but that is what I did. I understand if you have moved on. There’s no sense in awaiting new content when it has not come in almost three months. You deserve an explanation, at least.…

  • Under Pressure

    The omega. Always the last to feed, despite my part in the hunt. Always the butt of snickers, warning growls, scuffles—and the bites and flesh tearings that drive me apart. Always the omega. All because I run to my own heartbeat. Because my howl is my own. Because the pack would rule me when I…

  • Solstice Sorrow

    First light arrives before five in the morning. The birdsongs arrive with it. A cacophony of twittering, and avian arias, shatter my sleep, and any hopes of returning to it. By afternoon, however, a scattering of songs—at well-spaced intervals—may arise. This abundance of radiance—so close to the end of the academic year. This longest day—followed…