Texas Haibun

Originally posted in February, 2014.

This is my first attempt at a haibun. Please forgive my transgressions.

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Texas Haibun

I dream of poetry in all its forms, rising and flowing and subsiding without end, much like ice shrugging within itself. Last winter a hard freeze split a valve on the downstream side of the cistern. Had it cracked even a few inches up-line there would have been no need to replace the valve.

captive rain recalls
its journey towards the ground
the garden returns

The well terminates at 280 feet. The water is hard, but cool, and tastes of dark limestone and ancient rains.

Even the gnarled live oaks have dropped their leaves. Grass crunches underfoot and smells like dead insects and dried herbs. Mosquitoes have vanished. Only the prickly pears thrive. Their flowers are bright yellow and bloom a few days each year.

sauteed with garlic
nopalitos on my plate
their thorns, forgiven

I wipe sweat from my forehead with the back of the glove, and wonder how many ounces of fluid have passed through my body this year, how the rain navigates from clouds through layers of soil and stone, only to return, how a cold beer might feel sliding down my throat.

stoking the fire
winter rain whispers to me
forget tomorrow

photo(15)

52 thoughts on “Texas Haibun

  1. Robert, I love this haibun. What an interesting form. I was sorry to miss your month of off-the-cuff poems. Although I was technically off-line, I did sneak a few reads on my phone. Bravo! What a feat. I’d have loved to have commissioned one. Hopefully next time! Happy writing, Melissa

    Like

  2. Well, you will not hear any criticism from me–I am too uneducated in your craft to even have heard of a haibun. (Roar of laughter:my autocorrect wrote halibut!)

    I think it is evocative and lovely. I like poems which I feel I am co-experiencing as I read, and this is one.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. I love this. Especially the last couple stanzas:

    “I wipe sweat from my forehead with the back of the glove, and wonder how many ounces of fluid have passed through my body this year, how the rain navigates from clouds through layers of soil and stone, only to return, how a cold beer might feel sliding down my throat.

    “stoking the fire
    winter rain whispers to me
    forget tomorrow”

    I’ve been in the place of these last 3 lines on so many trips. And I love being there.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Pingback: The Sea (Haibun) | Reflections on Halcyon Pond

  5. Enjoyed this and congrats on finishing your poem marathon! Just curious, the only definition of the form I could find was “haikus interspersed with descriptive text” or something like that….are there any constraints, rules for the descriptive text…JIM

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks, Jim. I’m certainly no expert, but I’d guess the rules vary widely, depending upon who’s making them up. ๐Ÿ™‚ They were traditionally dedicated to travel (Basho) or to descriptive character or landscape sketches. Would anyone else like to chime in here? Ron? I’d also venture forth and say that the haiku segments are not necessarily directly related to or descriptive of the prose pieces.

      Liked by 1 person

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