Sketchbook  John Daleiden, US

 

 

Shan-zi Listen . . . The pines, snow bowed, stand like sentinels— guardians watching the wood spirits; whispering boughs sough in the wind— silent, secret snow.     Photo: C. L. Nagel

 

 

Haiku snow on the gravestones the names illegible geese rise from the pond     winter sun— in the long shadows snow turns grey     January cold— not even a sparrow at my window     the shadow of an old crow in flight— deep winter cold     crocus buds nestle in new snow— the shadows deepen

 

 

Tanka blown on the wind a feather left behind dark shadows light the room with your scent a fading memory

 

 

Cinquain In Our Dreams ancient shadows, blurred shapes, weave across the bedroom— our past and future ancestor spirts.

 

 

I Went To The Fair . . . 1. Homeless Child Cinquain Along the Byways The Fair: a wondrous world— the famous, rich, and poor, like Richard Corey walk through streets and see the sights without insight; the rose without perfume, a plastic imitation, false— is dead. Rainbows without color are like an acid rain feeding death with every embrace of love. the child watches and waits for our hand— a tabula rasa     2. Folsom Chains Cinquain The Descent of Anadyomene naked I stand—as born, unencumbered with clothes, my blemishes on parade, flags displayed proudly decorated with pearls from briny seas— thrust among these lecherous men I dance on waves of public scorn, denied my innocent descent among garrulous men, maligned. a last rose on autumn winds— the scent at dusk     3. Homeless Woman Cinquain Mater Dolorosa Distraught, the balm of sleep knits up her raveled cares— in dreams she threads her tapestry each night. Not man, nor child, nor beast escapes imperious vanity, an imperfection of man. in the garden— a snake devours a toad then sleeps     4. Homeless Man Fibonacci Wimo Weh . . . like King of the savannah sprawled in afternoon shade, he sleeps, oblivious to us as we pass and stare then mumble, unkind bold words— his life a book of public pages we all read never understanding one word because we can park our Mercedes in a garage owned by The World Bank . . . relentless waves crash on the rocky shore— a full moon tonight     5. Spanking Booth Cinquain Into this world I come depraved, defiled— cast onto the mortal earth, walking among all creatures, unclean. Penance doth the soul good— Oh, brother and sister, repent and do not spare the scourge. Repent! Strike me! Whip and beat me! I stagger, bleed and fall— flagellation is wondrous balm— I weep. I plead— there is no balm in Gilead healing with defter touch. Submit, repent, I cry. a garden sundial— the shadow changes constantly

 

 

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