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Transitory Seasons, a Haibun

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Below is the poem entitled Transitory Seasons, a Haibun which was written by poet Krow Fischer. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Transitory Seasons, a Haibun

Waking moments with the strong aroma of coffee percolating throughout the house, I arise.
Drifting through the morning mists, I find my way to the kitchen where the hearth-fire
embers, still warm from the night, glow orange in the pre-dawn emptiness. Where are you?
You, who have left your plate upon my table, sticky with basil and fresh eggs? You, who’s
scent upon my skin I wear as the finest perfume, inhaling deeply into my soul, your
remembrance with every breath I take, where are you?

pastel promises
dawn labours rigid skyline
slate sky epitaph

I hurry to open the heavy wooden door, and gaze out as dawn cracks the purple sky and the
smells of spring gust through my doorways, erasing all doubt of what I know. There, fading
in the morning dew, I see your footprints luminescent in crystal light, imprinted upon the
deep green of the forest path. Your tracks are leading away, back from where you came and
where I cannot go, yet. I watch the sun climb the skyline, exposing the stark truth of
daylight, so harsh with it’s radiant glare, that I must turn away. Footprints fading, I
know you are gone, and I return to my cold fire to prepare for another day.

crocus awakens
obdurate rainbow transpires
mocking winter's shroud

Many more will come today, with gifts of food and flowers. I have run out of vases, and
places to leave condolences. Excuses for why I do not accept a visit run as dry as un-shed
tears through barren conversations. I cannot hear, and it is a great strain these
visitors; the daylight hours are too bright, and their apprehension too loud. Forgive me
if I offend, in my knowing of just where I need to be. I did not seek anyone’s advice
anyway. Looking out past worn curtains I watch for the setting. Crows gather on the
budding trees and raise ruckus in their frenzy to reunite. I know you laugh at me, waiting
as I do. I hear you in those black birds. It’s called a “murder of crows” you’d tell me.
I hear you in my mind, just as I always did, and I feel your presence as a warm breeze on
the small of my back, but it is not the same, and never was, you know this.

stark dusk descending
shadows jeer eternity
peremptory fate



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  1. Date: 12/3/2013 3:39:00 PM
    Very colorful language, I see you enjoy the mystical perhaps you can write a verse for Mother's Night the Soltice? for my Contest? [in your title there's a typo haibun & it is a category now ;)] Light & Love

  1. Date: 3/29/2010 12:12:00 PM
    very nice, I like the combinationa of poem types here. sorry for the loss I feel in this poem. keep writing and sharing.

  1. Date: 3/24/2010 11:07:00 AM
    This is pass the beauty you write..I love the words in every line...