Driving Toward Town at 7:30 AM on Sunday Morning–dVerse Haibun Monday

Driving Toward Town at 7:30 AM on Sunday Morning
a Haibun

I ease through my neighborhood—streets soaked after a night of rain, awash in a blur of watercolor pastels. Turning east onto a main thoroughfare, the streets are deserted and sunshine backlights black clouds with bursts of silver. Trees bow beneath the weight of rains but shed tears, not the glory of their autumn wardrobe.

Further on, I turn onto West Fourth Street where trailers, weekly motels and liter replace beauty. The photographer has switched from color to a monochromatic vista of black, white and varying shades of gray. Here on the outskirts of Reno, images of drugs deals and prostitution are easy to imagine. I see a black jacket, soaked with rain, hanging over the guard rail that protects me from the gully and train tracks below. I consider pulling over, half-expecting to see its owner splayed in the ravine below. Fear restrains me.

autumn rains can’t cleanse
remnants of despair, poverty
song birds disappear
where trees can no longer thrive
where hope is bathed in darkness

This is a true story that happened yesterday morning. Bjorn invites us to write a contemporary haibun, focused on a cityscape, for dVerse Haibun Monday. Today we are given the option of tweaking the haiku portion of the poem. The pub opens soon, at 3:00 PM EDT. I hope you will join us.

This old photo is the actual portion of West Fourth Street I was driving. It used to be the main thoroughfare between Sacramento and Reno, through the Sierra Nevada, over Donner Pass. I was driving the opposite direction of the car in the photo, toward the city. You can see the ravine, the train tracks. On the opposite side of the street, it is as described in the haibun.

Lamentation–dVerse Haibun Monday

Lamentation
a Haibun

The pelting rain, a sort of purifying ritual, drenches me—mingles with my tears of regret. So easy to be unnoticed in this large crowd, waiting for a means of escape, a yellow hack driven by a stranger. Anonymity, a blessed escape from reality.

I clench my unopened umbrella at my side, welcome the cleansing downpour.

Questions pound me with every drop. Could I have been there if I’d tried? Said words of forgiveness, words he needed to hear? Offered him the solace of my absolution?

But anger has burned inside me for so many years. It is no longer separate from who I am. I no longer have anger, I am anger.

And so he died—unshriven, despairing. And I, I bear the burden.

rain drops drench my soul
waiting alone in this crowd
battered by regret

Photo: Mary Kling
all rights reserved
used with permission

Hey, everyone…it’s Haibun Monday at dVerse! Today, Mary Kling offers 3 of her photos for your inspiration. Feel free to use them, but kindly give her the credit due. Please give your imagination free rein and join us. The doors open at 3 PM EST and remain open all week. 

 

Monday Meanderings–Welcome, Rain. Please Stay Awhile

The Truckee River, 2014–only a block from our home. It is usually fast and full, fed by Tahoe.
Photo: KTVN News Channel 2

While much of the United States has been inundated with precipitation of one sort or another, we in the West have just suffered through our third year of drought. Our beautiful maple tree, in the front yard is languishing and if we lose it, we have mentioned the possibility of xeriscape, which seems so logical for those of us living in desert climates. (Reno, in Northern Nevada, is nestled in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, about 40 minutes from Lake Tahoe. It is classified as high desert.)

At the moment, I turn my head to look out the window, at a lovely gentle rainfall. The bare ornamental pear tree right next to me is decorated with pendulous drops of water. To the West and North of us, there is a fine dusting of snow that hasn’t quite reached our 4500 ft. elevation. My prayer is that this lovely gift of rain will hang around for a while and water our barren land. But gently, I think, to give it time to soak in (I recall two floods we’ve experienced since moving here in 1993.)

Photo: Victoria Slotto
Ornamental Pear Tree in Winter.

This morning “my” tree was full of birds, feasting on the tiny, inedible-to-human pears that still remain. Finches, Jays, a Chickadee–the first I’ve seen here, robins and doves compete. On the ground and in the huge blue spruce in the front yard, quail wait out the winter. Their babies, which delight us in fair weather, are mature now.

Will we have snow this year? Last year only one snowfall made its way to us just in time to get dirty or melt for Christmas. But for today, it’s a very light rain. Please stay a while.

After the Rain

Photo Credit: J. Korbetis

Diamonds settle on mounds
of Dianthus while
sparrows splash with joy
in sparkling puddles.

Fresh scents suffuse morning
light: lemon
honeysuckle, spice.
Verbena and persimmon.

Today, I touch the moment,
but think of yesterdays
when once we walked
in rain and sand beneath

a canopy of stars
we tried in vain to count.
The promises you made
did not endure forever.

And now, alone, I ponder
life transformed by dew,
taste the sweetness of
tomorrow and a memory.

A FICTIONAL poem linked to dVerse Open Link Night. Hope you will join us. The doors open at 3:00 PM EDT.

thirteen ways of looking at rain

thirteen ways of looking at rain

i
rain
symbol of cleansing
dreamtime confession

ii
the touch of rain
on a withered cheek
reminder of long-ago kisses

iii
when rain and sun
make love
they spawn rainbows

iv
rain puddles on asphalt or cobblestone
luminescent pools of color
moody reflections

v
rain puddles on dirt make mud
child’s delight
mother’s misery

vi
when rain freezes
and winds blow
kisses sting
like a lover grown cold

vii
some people are like rain
you reach out to touch them
they slip through your fingers
they are gone
but you remember
they were there

viii
some people are like rain
you wait for them
but they don’t come
then they appear uninvited
and disrupt your life

ix
mingle rain
with tears
purify your heart

x
rain’s caress
on a child’s cheek
an invitation to play

xi
too much rain blinds
just like too much of anything
moderation, balance
give direction

xii
dance in the rain
sing in the shower
be not afraid
enjoy freedom

xiii
when it rains
go walking
without an umbrella

This week at dVerse Poetics, the incomparable Brian Miller offers a prompt based on the amazing art work of Tera Zajack ( olive hue designs) and the Gooseberry Garden invites us to consider, among other things, December. Usually, this month is blessed with some form of precipitation. Where I live, it most often takes the form of snow. But this year, the only thing we’ve had is cold and wind. So this poem, inspired by a form given to us by Wallace Stevens, is more of a wish than a reality. I hope to see you at one or both of these wonderful poetry communities.

My browser would not allow me to upload the images that inspired this poem, so now you HAVE TO check out the Pub. Have a drink and share a poem while you’re there!

Neon Kisses–Open Link Night at dVerse Poets’ Pub

Neon Kisses

I didn’t notice the color of your jacket
or your eyes.
Battered by rain and wind
we walked side-by-side.
Neon lights reflected on wet asphalt
blinked their messages in blurred colors.

Nor did I notice where you took me
or that we had to wait for hours.
Your words hung, suspended in air
like notes of a symphonic chorus,
at times harmonic chords,
reverberated, crashing down around me.

I didn’t notice that the rain had stopped,
leaving in the air a fragrant breath
of moon-fresh night.
Nor did I grasp the fact that when you left
the cold closed in, enveloped me like a shroud.

The only thing I hold in memory:
kisses. The taste you left upon my lips,
your touch,
your smile.

Linked to Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub where we share a drink or two, great poetry and friendship. Come on over! http://dversepoets.com

After the Rain

Image via Wikipedia

After the Rain

Diamonds settle on mounds
of Dianthus while
sparrows splash with joy
in sparkling puddles.

Fresh scents suffuse morning
light: lemon
honeysuckle, spice.
Verbena and persimmon.

Today, I touch the moment
but think of yesterdays
when once we walked
in rain and sand beneath

a canopy of stars
we tried in vain to count.
The promises you made
did not endure forever.

And now, alone, I ponder
life transformed by dew.
Taste the sweetness of
tomorrow and a memory.

Linked to One Stop Poetry’s One Shot Wednesday: http://onestoppoetry.com where, if you take the time to browse, you’ll discover some wonderful poetry.