Haibun 30

transcending the metaphysical

not sure how to put this  so i will do it  there is hole where the dark matter lives in my being  who is it  what is it  no idea  when i find out i wont tell a soul

my hand
waves in front of my eyes
to special music


Experimental Haibun that most likely will not be published!

Haibun 30

Two Tiny Haibun


the substance of forgotten things

i glance at the light shade. it has tassels on it that remind me of my grandmother.

your fingers can not touch me and yet i move

aurora borealis spillway

the rain has created a channel in my backyard. a small path of fog hovers over the water.

not yet autumn and the northern lights have hidden the stars


Published on a Poet’s Blog!

Haibun 29

stoner in the kitchen

In my teens, and with the usual heavy dose of low self-esteem, I find myself in the kitchen of a beautiful blonde girl in my class. I am helping her mother with the dishes. She is German, and her Mom is a strong boned and beautiful woman who can cook up a storm, and does, for all of her daughter’s visiting friends. We are all theater types, practicing our lines and trying out different personas on each other, so good food and a nice open house with a backyard swimming pool is a big plus! Her father is a square head German (I can say that, being one myself), who patrols every interaction any boy has with his daughter. He loves hunting and makes a point of showing off his many guns to all the boys. In the sixties, this is vintage behavior. The alpha Dad making an exclamation point of his dominance over every interloper in his territory. But, I am doing the dishes with Mom, and it feels good helping in the kitchen, and Mom is pleased that I am showing deference to the real head of the house since she controls her sometimes volatile husband with simple but brightly firm looks and facial cues. It works, almost unerringly, and my young mind has obviously picked up on that fact. After the dishes are done, I leave quietly, never really saying goodbye to that blonde I am so taken with in my mind. Why I do this is a mystery to me, even now. I take the long way home, but why I do that I don’t understand until years later.

being emotionally myopic i forget to say i love you


Most likely will never be ‘published’!