Sketchbook  John Daleiden, US

 

Shan-zi In This Season Under the tree gifts for everyone— a dolly for Jane, a train for Bill. The chior sings, "Peace on the earth, Good will to men".

 

Fibonacci and Haiku To The Artist Poet old friends meet in the morning sky sun and moon the art of words knows no bounds— each poem like a soul, etched in memory, a painting— color, shape, line, and form on pages preserved for the eyes of future ages. a rose bouquet with delicate scent hello, old friend

 

 

Cinquain  In My Dreams I think there is a realm more fabled than this land where tears are gold and kisses fill the sky.     All That Night surprised, trapped in blizzard conditions, we played games— the house scented with hickory burning     A Guiding Light Star bright, shine through the night, lead us to faith and peace— the paths through these dangerous woods are dark. John Daleiden

 

 

Mirror Tetractys When I Am First Aroused From Sleep My Love sing sweetly like the dove at morning light— fill my waking dreams each day with delight. Oh vision, vanish not into the bright bluster of day forgotten in one yawn.

 

 

Haiku lion and lamb lie down beside each other— the stuff of dreams     without their voices these geese would be lost snow after dawn     new snow fall— the smell of  liniment oil beside a log fire     deer tracks in the new snow-- Rudolf, my son says.

 

 

Tanka Looking back— along the sandy trail. . . emptiness follows invisible to most eyes I imagine Indian ghosts

 

 

Echoes hear those voices whisper from another time— listen with me Once there were cows here, who returned at dusk each day to leave their nourishing milk; now there are only ghost sounds of an old cow bell lost among the wind blowing through the toppled copula and broken stone foundation. Between the shattered white barn siding, the sun and wind mingle with the chirp of sparrows. fleet and fleeting time is a ravisher— dust to dust

 

 

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