The breast of the Carolina wren sighs,
and the tinge of autumn glorifies the
silent beauty of his engraved name on
marble and granite,
a tribute to the youth bridegroom
known for the cherish of his gleaming
love he had in life.
A cascading veil of lace,
white roses,
teardrops,
a pall cast over his bride and
nuptial guests.
Hail him, with his heart that had
goodness, generosity, and joy.
The bridegroom died on his
wedding morn.
In a passage of mortal to eternal,
the sparrows dedicate sorrow in
autumnal songs to him.
His betrothed stands in the grass,
her groom, her love, in
September’s embrace,
In the mourning fields.
North Carolina bereavement is
everlasting,
in her mountains of gold and
crimson,
her Piedmont, her coast.
Such lament aflame-
unbridled in its pain.
Our paean rings of his song,
his tragic journey to join the Lord
and His angels,
as the mist shrouds envelop
his bride,
in the mourning fields. ~
North Carolina ballerina,
sweet lady of the Piedmont,
she so sterling,
died from the selfishness
of a drunk driver.
Gliding into a pirouette
as she enters God's
garden of youth.
The anguish tatters the
sails of my psyche,
as the rain gently descends
from a sorrowing ash sky.
I drink the bitter taste of loss
from the goblet of the ages.
No, please, no,
she is a precious one.
The dew glistens on the
peach-hued roses of
maiden innocence,
as if tears on an infant's cheeks.
Elena, our ballerina of grace,
death passes into life,
your beauty of a June magnolia
blossom-
charming the angels who
attend you.
Elena, Elena,
your lovely dancer's legacy
still dwells in our midst.
Your name whispered in
summer's evefall starry music. ~
I was ten when Hurricane Hazel passed over our farm in the Piedmont of North Carolina with gusts exceeding 100mph. I really wanted to see that eye. On the pretext of needing to check my weather station, I waited for the wind to stop howling and rushed out the back door.
In the stillness my eyes were drawn upward.
so still
the weeping willow
straightens
First published in Contemporary Haibun Online.
Some days are almost crystalline in the memory: they shine like diamonds in the blue perspective of the distant past.
winter wind
a broken branch
lit by gray-green lichens
New Year's day,1981, was like that. I spent the day with my future wife, Joyce, wandering around the Eno River in the Piedmont of North Carolina. The weather was perfect for January in the South— clear with a pale, yellow sun and temperatures in the mid-50s. Chilly but pleasant.
We explored the oak and maple forests bordering the river, admiring its stark, wintry beauty, and happy with each others' middle-aged company. We pointed out birds' nests and the occasional larger, leafy squirrel's homes in the bare boughs. Always, the river was a strong background presence, winding through stone outcroppings and sandy shores.
winter evening
at home
with stars
First published in Contemporary Haibun Online
Feel the sun, and enjoy the breeze of spring,
Opening your door to let winter out.
React to the pollen, watching it cling
Everywhere, because of the long drought.
Visit the Easter Bunny at the mall.
Easter eggs are finally in season!
Reach for a stick, then go grab a round ball,
And head towards a field for no reason.
Turner Field is open! So is Six Flags!
Little Five Points is drawing a big crowd!
As Piedmont Park invites all tails to wag,
North, South, East, and West Atlanta get loud.
This is the season. This is the city.
And, ignoring them would be a pity.
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