Tuesday, February 28, 2012

moon on waves haiku

on the waves
night undulates

haiku beach

spring beach
seaweed tangled
with beer cans

Her Rosary Beads

After my father died,
I went to mass with my mother
to partake in her daily rituals,
be closer to her.

She still sat in the same pew,
one we filled as a family years ago.
Her leather bound missal
on the slot in front of her.
Photos slid from pages,
laminated faces smiled at me,
memoriam cards
bookmarking her favourite psalms.

Her glass rosary beads knotted around her fingers
she caressed each bead in prayer.
Soothed by her lisping whispers
I watched her pray,
as her beads tinkled
against the polished pew.
Her eyes closed,
face raised in adoration
to some uncharted world beyond,
I saw my father walking free,
reunited with the smiling faces.
Tears traced the lines of her powdered face
and my tears silently trickled too.
Comforted by her devotion,
credence in decades of the rosary,
the mysteries became tangible.
Like a cord connecting us,
the chain on her beads,
linked me to the afterlife,
a place I could not readily accept

My mother is closer now,
the cord of life, so strong.
My father’s wish
uniting us from beyond.

tidepool haiku

a world of tide pools
childhood memories

umbrella haiku

gale force winds
an umbrella and I
in a twist

sun shower
under an umbrella
lovers kiss

haiga euryops

murky day
the first euryops daisy
a gift of sunshine

haiga for Bernadette and Rachael Stanley xx

all the way home
cherry blossoms bloom
lunch with the girls

Spirited Magpies

playfully exchange trees.
Alternating between birch and maple,
they compete for the highest branches.
Striking and athletic,
I delight in their performance.

From close proximity,
their plumage flashes a metallic blue
white underbellies,
lustrous as virgin snow.
Strutting boastfully
lofty tails held high,
I contemplate their beauty.
Standing solid
against an lifeless sky,
feathers ruffled,
they remain

Moving in pairs.
My superstitious mind
cites “two for joy”.
I wonder in amusement
if the most dominant one
on the arched limb of my silver birch
is my father’s spirit?
His characteristics
are so similar.

Haiga Forsythia

golden dawn
forsythia blooms
yellow the driveway

Funeral haiku

murky morning
my world shrouded
in grey

funeral home
spotting a makeup stain
on his tie

body laid out
placing a carnation
in his buttonhole

his corpse
without pain
youthful again

of condolence
amassing his life

crumpled tissues
side by side in the bin
estranged siblings

numbed by
his numbness
a final parting

grief stricken
the warmth of her tears

grief stricken
the taste her tears

funeral day
the heavens open
in sympathy

shoulder the coffin
the weight of mother

dogwood hedgerows
my father reunited
with his dog

foggy day
his passing
sinking in

RIP Dad 26 January 2012

Haiga between palm trees