can you call it fun
if no one ever gets hurt?
RED CUTS ON WHITE FUR
if no one ever gets hurt,
can you call it fun?
—
This is for my rough-and-tumble greyhound Phoebe. She’s always got a cut or a scrape or a bloody appendage. It’s all fun and games even when she gets hurt. We’re pretty sure she thinks that’s half the fun.
If you’re interested in the form of the poem, it’s a NaisaiKu and it was written for Week 3 of the NaisaiKu… Challenge.
[saveagrey]
a blur through the room
faster than the speed of nap—
greyhound on the couch
FASTER THAN THE SPEED OF NAP
greyhound on the couch
faster than the speed of nap—
a blur through the room
—
This week it was Joey’s turn to be the subject of a NaisaiKu for the NaisaiKu challenge. Phoebe will get her shot next Friday.
[saveagrey]
piercing eyes scan all
he measures my weight in meat
jaguar on the couch
PIERCING EYES SCAN ALL
jaguar on the couch
he measures my weight in meat
piercing eyes scan all
—
piercing eyes scan all
he measures my weight in meat
jaguar on the couch
HE MEASURES MY WEIGHT IN MEAT
jaguar on the couch
he measures my weight in meat
piercing eyes scan all
—
piercing eyes scan all
he measures my weight in meat
jaguar on the couch
JAGUAR ON THE COUCH
jaguar on the couch
he measures my weight in meat
piercing eyes scan all
—
This is for The NaisaiKu Challenge. What is a NaisaiKu? The explanation is here, but mainly it’s a way to play with words and phrases using a 5-7-5 haiku as a starting point. Clever blogger that I am, I decided to combine this with some good old fashioned Friday Cat Blogging.
I attempted all 3 varieties of NaisaiKu, and like how they work together increasing the paranoia.
And, yes, I realize that the picture doesn’t match the words, but that’s only because Simon prefers to keep his eyes closed. But he is awake. Waiting.
Fog silences everything on the way down to the pond. The trees hold still, making way for the muted quacks from the ducks farther down.
I watch a flock of Blue Jays descend on a tree, screeching at something. I don’t see any owls or hawks, and eventually they leave, their work finished.
Above the trail, I notice a Great Blue Heron, solitary and watchful. My eyes drift from him to the shapes of the ducks drifting through the fog. One tree over, a Red-bellied Woodpecker squawks at the heron. I’ve never seen a Red-bellied Woodpecker in the neighborhood so I study him through the binoculars, his red nape leaping out of the surrounding gray.
I make a note in my bird book and watch him watch the heron, until, having had enough, the heron jumps off the tree and slowly flies up the creek back toward the bridge.
The trail disappears in both directions, and I walk back toward home, stopping along the way to admire the texture of some broken trunks. What happened to shear off these branches and leave the gaps in the trees? Was it sudden like lightning or just the slow erosion of time?
I can hear birds chirping in the reeds, but they’re not to be seen. The fog diffuses the sound and their voices could be coming from anywhere.
A gentle fog and
brief graying of the familiar
renders the world new
When you grow up with the Navy, you get used to certain things, particularly salty air and the cries of gulls. Things not easily come by during a typical day in central Texas. Thank goodness for the Ring-billed Gulls, then, that come to the lake near our house every winter.
My gull fix is only a short bike ride away, even if I drove the other day.
I ignored the other birds, ignored everything, focused on the mass of white specks floating on the sparkling water.
flash of white
against the blue
plunges into cold
I can watch gulls for hours. I love the way they fly, so graceful. Lazy one minute, and diving for a meal the next.
Watching gulls is watching wind come alive.
wind takes form
substance, shape
a gull streaks across
memory
Cold air riders come to spend another central Texas inland winter, they bob on the surface, cry and take flight.
The wind pushes them around a bit, but it’s all for show.
They are in control.
a cry, a soaring gull
comes up with lunch
i come back for more
Soaring overhead,
scissor-tails returning
a long journey ends
I love the scissor-tailed flycatcher. So beautiful and elegant with tails forked wide or streaming long and thin behind like signs towed by toy airplanes. What would the sign say? Bugs beware, spring is here.
They’re the state bird of Oklahoma, and can be found on the Oklahoma statehood quarter, released earlier this year.
Fortunately, they can also be found all over central Texas this time of year, soaring over open fields, twisting and diving to come up with a delicious dragonfly. Watching their forked tailed displays is cause to stop the car and stare.
They migrate up from southern Mexico and central America, and then fan out across Texas and Oklahoma. Those journeys are especially amazing to me. What have those little black eyes seen? Seeing the first members of a returning migration is a sight to make one’s day. For a moment, at least, we can know that some things still work, still happen as they should. With their return, Nature’s clock chimes April.
They showed up on April 1st this year.
The return of the
scissor-tailed flycatcher
April has begun
leaves glowing backlit
along the trail catch my eye
’til the earth moves
During summer vacation I can actually eat out, enjoy Austin’s many great restaurants, try new things, eat whenever I want, and yet my favorite lunch is to sit at home, read a magazine, and listen to something on the stereo while the dogs watch for dropped food.
Today it was National G, Bill Frissell, and my all-time favorite summer lunch prepared haiku style…
Tuna fish sandwich
Chips, and a glass of iced tea
Good Dog, Happy Man
I’ve been trying to teach haiku. It’s a fun activity for when time is short at the end of the year. I especially like it because it’s simple, yet it forces kids to really choose their words carefully, something they are not often wont to do.
One student, having trouble with the form asked if I could go over it again and write one on the board for him…
First, five syllables
The second line has seven
Third line follows first
and then, this…
Haikus are poems
Usually do not rhyme
Just keep it simple
For some reason they found these amusing.
This is from a few years ago when I was trying to explain haiku to seventh graders on a beautiful spring day much like today. Anyways, the fire alarm went off and we all filed outside to await the all-clear from the fire department all of which inspired this…
ahhh, spring sirens call
outdoors birds singing… lovely
good day for bomb threat
(Probably not really a haiku either.)