I’ve completed on arrangements and now there’s a hold up. Nothing happens in some quarters when it is a public holiday. Celebrations are on hold for me. The banks are closed. Even on-line nothing happens. What I wanted, taking its time to activate. It’s as simple as not having entered my mobile number to my bank profile.
I’m not of fan of the ubiquitous mobile phone. Simple as that. Now I must wait for a vague and distant activation.
Then the celebrations will begin. The corks waiting to pop.
It is something we do as adults, Issa, squeeze under our houses to check the joists, the bearers. But did you crawl in the thin spaces under your parent’s house; that ghastly step-mother of yours? Did you check your father’s house? But of course you did.
under my housean inchwormmeasuring the joists
Perhaps you didn't need to crawl under the house. Perhaps you could hear the inchworm by not having to do that. But I have memories of my childhood Issa, and I have written so thinking of you.
under my parent's house
near the chimney
a nest of duck eggs
i am the one who must crawl
under the house for duck eggs
rich sultana cake ...
today my mother
bakes with duck eggs
Dear writer from a faraway land. The day grows short now.
well, well,the day is foolishly long ... irises
napped half the dayno onepunished me
Perhaps you have read my words before. Today I will try to finish my letter to you but excuse me I have guests arriving.
the nighingalenot at all concernedlittle gambling shack
Therefore excuse me from my far distant Prefecture.
spring breeze even a samurai is blowndown the slope
Might my letter blow on seasonal breezes to you; writer from a faraway land.
Some people call me Chief Beggar of Shinano Province; others, Issa.
Benita H. Kape (c) 11.4.2021
Notes: All haiku by Issa are in Italics.
And now for our (optional) prompt. This is a twist on a prompt offered by Kay Gabriel during a meeting she facilitated at the Poetry Project last year. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a two-part poem, in the form of an exchange of letters. The first stanza (or part) should be in the form of a letter that you write either to yourself or to a famous fictional or historical person. The second part should be the letter you receive in response. These can be as short or long as you like, in the form of prose poems, or with line breaks – and of course, the subject matter of the letters is totally up to you.
I pull back the curtains and open the window nudging aside a stray ornament or two. Already the uncut rose in the garden is offering up swelling rosehips at the very edge of the sill. Newly delivered straw for the garden beds sits in a barrow across the lawn.
Today’s (optional) prompt picks up from our craft resource. We’ve challenged you to tackle the haibun in past years, but it’s such a fun one, we couldn’t resist again. Today, we’d like to challenge you specifically to write a haibun that takes in the natural landscape of the place you live. It may be the high sierra, dusty plains, lush rainforest, or a suburbia of tiny, identical houses – but wherever you live, here’s your chance to bring it to life through the charming mix-and-match methodology of haibun.
I rise to let the cat out. She is lethargic and resists. I push her out the door anyway. I don’t want her scratching at my bedroom door in another half an hour or so. She disappears briefly and now that I am ready to throw myself back into the sack, as they say, she is ready to come back in. I say a firm “no”. She understands every word I say but just stands there anyway.
As I head back to the bedroom I can hear other late risers gathering on the deck next door. Coughs and goofs commensurate after a late night. I see most of them are wearing dark glasses. They must have been sitting there half an hour or more. Now they head to their cars. The street becomes itself again, quiet, sleepy, urban. The cat has already settled on the bottom step ignoring me. I again test the flick lock.
bedroom door closed
I shut out
the bright day
Well, that was what I intended. But I can never resist a peek at the computer. Emails and projects draw me in.
The site of this excavation, a humble cottage, late twentieth century. It seems the item handed me is in the shape of a bottle, dark green glass, and I deduct it as having originally contained local wine. Looking at it closely we doubt we will find any possible traces of wine.
Further study is warranted as it is clear this item had gone on to a second, creative use. Under heat, yet retaining the original cylindrical shape has been flattened. What was the upper neck, of the bottle, has been wound around with twine which appears in excellent condition. Though it appears that this item hung on a wall, perhaps as decoration, the outer limits of objet d’art, we believe its true function was as a cheese board, a lovely simple functional cheese board. (There are moments when doing our excavations I just want to tuck a found item into my rucksack.)
The hour to drop our tools for the day grows near. A wine or two before dinner will relax me.
And now for our (optional) prompt! Have you ever heard someone wonder what future archaeologists, whether human or from alien civilization, will make of us? Today, I’d like to challenge you to answer that question in poetic form, exploring a particular object or place from the point of view of some far-off, future scientist? The object or site of study could be anything from a “World’s Best Grandpa” coffee mug to a Pizza Hut, from a Pokemon poster to a cellphone.