Haibun: Loneliness

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A little over a year ago, I left my career. I had a high pressure position that demanded a great deal of my time. My travel was extensive and the only times I was alone was in a hotel room. I used those moments to read and decompress. Books have always been a wonderful companion for me as I can get lost in a good story. The only writing I did was answering the vast amounts of emails I received on any given day. Funny, looking back on it now, I was lonelier then than I am now. Surrounded by people for hours on end. I missed my husband, my home, my bed, and my dog.

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Haibun- Warm Spring

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Hummingbird and Ocotillo
The air is fresh and bright on my early morning walk. Thrashers, perched on high treetops are beckoning for the sun to shine on them so they may bask in it’s warm light. The ocotillos are brilliant green with the top of each stalk sporting a fiery bloom. Orange is a prevalent color here in the desert. The yellow-orange and crimson red lantana are a shock of arresting color. They beg the butterflies to pause on their journey to drink of their sweetness. A black chinned hummingbird is slurping nectar from a tangerine red desert honeysuckle.
Under the mesquite tree, a flock of lovebirds feast on birdseed. A perfect Spring day, a present if you will, given with hope and promise.

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Broken Wing

a-matter-of-life-and-death.jpgImage used with permission of the artist, Fay Collins

She used to sway and dance
on the water’s grassy shore
where the waves ever lap
singing their lulling chord.

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Old Soul

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When my damaged heart
can find no sustained relief
you are what my old soul needs
to shake me from my grief.

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Fried Squirrel in Disguise

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My sister and I sat down to supper
looking at our plates we asked
what is this mom?
Fried squirrel, now eat,
do you need some sweet butter?

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Haibun: Twilight

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I sit in the garden at dusk, watching the sky change from turquoise to amber red gold. The silhouettes of the trees are in stark contrast, midnight black against a vivid palette. I take a sip of bold red wine- it’s a cabernet kind of day. Deep, dark, dry and mysterious.
There is a sadness within me for which I have no name. Is it my dear mother, holding my hand from heaven? Or my old soul, yearning again for the playful freedom that the young take for granted?
And then I know, it is love fading into the shadows.

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She Should

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She should forget her passions and innermost desires
incinerate her wants and needs
build a gasoline fired funeral pyre
tie them all to the killing stake
burning away her emotions
as her soul forsakes
who she is.

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