Tag: haibun
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Tea
Only of a particular variety, one can say… unfit for human consumption cuckhoo cry
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Mortal Moments
That moment when his red-faced fury could turn on me… Or that moment when my back slid across the stones on the bottom of the Animus River, the surface tauntilizingly close, yet out-of-reach. Or that moment when all of my life lies in my past, as I exhale for the last time. cold rain a…
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Melody
“Deliciously” the first notes cascade forth… Blue moon an Aria to entice La Lune herself… from out of the shadow a crescendo arising so high, before the fall… a finger points up
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A faltered Accompanyment
Misty peaks. Verdant treetops. Nesting cranes. An adult gazes on two young. The gold-plated, metal-framed naturescape hung in our former Primary Bathroom for almost twenty years. Now it rests at the bottom of a linen closet. A casualty of home decor fashion… climbing above hills full moon
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The Advent of March
The mad month begins with the aftermath of the Trump ambush of Zelanskyy. Political theater and “good TV” replace principled policy and honorable alliance. warm-weather a white rabbit running late The mad month continues with a Murphy’s Law procession of technical difficulties. A simple file attachment of reasonably-requested documentation becomes a Rubik’s Cube of dysfunction…
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A Duel of Fates
The waves bore witness. The storm clouds arriving at sunset showed unusual interest. The shadow of a departing titan passed on indifferently. What did these samarai say to each other on that beach? Did they share commiserations of the karma that brought them there? Shed a tear of remorse for the necessary death sure to…
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Groundhog Night
Punxsutawney Phil predicted six more weeks of Winter. That same night, an inch or two of snow accumulated on my street. Beyonce’s “Cowboy Carter” won the Album of the Year Grammy, to the surprise of no one. & an all-to-familiar snoring woke me up in the middle of the night. Again. arthritic ache the streets…
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Sacred Encounters
“I find the presence of the sacred in….” & I’m five. A rusty red tricycle rests upside-down. I spin the small back wheels. Their whirring sound resonates deep within. Or I’m at Kingsland Point Park riding a swing. The Hudson river flows by. A breeze from the center of it blows ashore. Or I’m in…
Frank J. Tassone 