Haiku
Projections are that by 2050, 70% of the world’s population will reside in urban areas. While there are benefits to increasing densities of people, my concern is urbanization's impact on our already fraught relationship with the natural world and the effect on us physically, psychologically, and spiritually. I embrace the theory of “biophilia” that argues evolution has disposed humans to love living systems; so what happens if we lose further touch with the forms and fabrics of life? One antidote is haiku, short lyric poems that record, in the words of Cor Van Den Heuvel, “the essence of a moment keenly perceived in which nature is linked to human nature.” Below are my efforts with haiku, which because of their departures from the genre's conventions, I call “haikuesque."
Winter's songs they all were sung
Shy but sure these days of spring
Soft parade has now begun
Leaves that fall and buds in spring
Nothing here to make us sad
Nature's patterns in all things
Mid-December day awakes
Lakes in clouds of diamond dust
Shoreline rocks embossed with frost
Trimmed by bitter berry blooms
The garden pond a liquid jewel
Preening pool for bathing birds
Those who have the ears will hear
Rock and river's murmured prayer
The wind a hymn that stirs the firs
Predawn gauzed in valley fog
High the camphoraceous tree
Long-eared owl his muted hoot
Algorithmic summer scene
Fibonacci flower heads
Fractal trees in shades of green
Here beside the rivers dark
Softly sing to us O Muse
Bring your songs both old and new
Passing through a gateless gate
Like the seers and the saints
Let us set our souls aflame
That which is now
Precious and holy
The heartbreaking beauty of things
Under melancholy pewter clouds
Porch-bound pumpkins fleck the fields
Watched by oaks in cloaks of brown
Ghastly stallions, manes and tails
Coats of white, red, black, and pale
Nightmare horsemen nigh to ride
Migrant geese fly ragged Vs
Rowdy honks of hosanna
Sky alive with thanks and praise
Hurricanes howl
Fierce fires rage
A wounded world spins toward the end of days
May flowers in quiet riot
Each bird his morning worm
A sapling seeks the sun
Cobalt sky
The winter leaves now shreds of red
Rough bark aglaze with ice
From the rich soil born
August corn with tassels tall
Glory be to green
Ruddy rural road
Meadows wide on either side
The piebald ponies graze
Summer holiday
Sky ignites in flowers of fire
Cats are not amused
Canoe on silken river
Flanked by banks of green
The fish in cool pools
Steep in green ravine
Seven waterfalls
Strong is the song of zazen
Heat heavy air
In purple jacaranda
Raucous choir of nectared bees
Lotus floating pond
Bright red bridge of arching wood
Dancing dragonflies
Through stone sacred gate
Wreathed in summer glossy green
Hillside Shinto shrine
Barely blushing sky
Watercolored clouds
From the birds burst morning songs
Beside sea-sculpted cypress
Where white waves crash
A snowy plover plies the strand
Pre-dawn frost
As day starts to stir
Hints of wood stove tint the air
Fog shrouded hill
In slender eucalyptus
A crow acclaims the day
Soft morning rain
Squirrels in damp repast
A jade bush shyly blooms
Mist muted moon
In stillness before dawn
A cactus capped in red
Spring waters flow
A mossy boulder bathed
As fish finesse the stream
Sun dappled morning
Across herbaceous field
Coyote goes his way
Cold air before dawn
Full moon shadows fall
An owl hoots his hymn
Freshness follows rain
In bamboo filtered sun
Languid cats lounge
Easter Sunday shades of grey
Distant train Seattle bound
Gentle whistle like a psalm
Atmospheric river rain
Narrow band of moisture plume
Somewhere there the crescent moon
Trees they please October days
Leaves like sleeves on gowns that branch
Scarlet maples autumn dance
From the place beyond the pines
Evergreen and resinous
A jay acclaims this day of May
Where the wheat once sought the sun
Dormant fields in white repose
Black-clad crows like jewels on snow
Wise ones who made straight the way
Four truths and an eightfold path
Let us not be led astray
Room perfumed by tatami
Calligraphic mandala
Brass bell at the butsudan
Within whatsoever was
Life proclaims the bonds of being
Those we see and those unseen
Seasons spin the threads of life
All things woven into these
What has been and what will be
This world a womb of wonder
Here itself the lotus land
With we the sleeping Buddhas
Farmers market Sunday morn
Stalls adorned with winter squash
All awash in gilded light
Aspen shake in autumn wind
Leaves become the season's reason
Golden dervish dancing down
We with eyes to see
This day abounds in grace
Hallowed ground and sacred space
On mulch mellowed earth
A boulder glossed with moss
Be-bopping robins all about
The gray cat stirs
Da Gloriam Deo
As vernal rain a vespers softly sings
Gone the scorching sun
Blessed be the evening breeze
Willows sway in praise
In still of solstice night
Lit by chandelier of stars
A silent spider waits
After morning mist
Pastel dome of pinks and blues
Mountain silhouette
Narrow campground road
Two friends in fur afoot
Wet noses touch at dusk
Hawthorne hedge
Tiled roof in tones of brown
Window cat watches the world
Thatch-fence teahouse garden
By autumn blaze maple
Sitting Buddha touches earth
Deep in hidden garden
Well worn stepping stones
Blossom branches dangle down
Above flower stippled field
Strands of cirrus sky
Falcon hunts her prey
Season's subtle shift
A jasmine-sweetened breeze
Newborn buds seek out the sun
Rain-glazed lane
Under thunderclap
A startled possum scurries past
Rarely trod trail
Wrapped in snow bold spruce
A distant temple bell
Warm sun
The hum from pollen-dusted bees
Grizzled dog awaits his walk
Cozy corner park
Garbed in autumn's humble hues
An empty bench awaits
Day gives way to dusk
On liquid amber limb
A pair of parrots preen
Stand of sturdy pines
Host to boasting jay
The gentle scent of trees
Sleepy summer plants
Deep there in green
A mantis sheds her shell
With fall solstice coming
On a pebbled path
Oak leaves ride the breeze
Winter winds whistle
Bare boughs bend
Birds wisely wait to wing