Kerouac and the Haiku

American Haiku (Copyright 1959)
"The American Haiku is not exactly the Japanese
Haiku. The Japanese Haiku is strictly disciplined
to seventeen syllables but since the language
structure is different I don't think American
Haikus (short three-line poems intended to be
completely packed with Void of Whole) should worry
about syllables because American speech is
something again...bursting to pop.
Above all, a Haiku must be very simple and free
of all poetic trickery and make a little picture
and yet be as airy and graceful as a Vivaldi
Pastorella."
                       ~  Jack Kerouac


Early morning yellow flowers,

thinking about

the drunkards of Mexico.


No telegram today

only more leaves

fell.


Nightfall,

boy smashing dandelions

with a stick.


Holding up my

purring cat to the moon

I sighed.


Drunk as a hoot owl,

writing letters

by thunderstorm.


Empty baseball field

a robin

hops along the bench.


All day long

wearing a hat

that wasn't on my head.


Crossing the football field

coming home from work -

the lonely businessman.


After the shower

among the drenched roses

the bird thrashing in the bath.


Snap your finger

stop the world -

rain falls harder.


Nightfall,

too dark to read the page

too cold.


Following each other

my cats stop

when it thunders.


Wash hung out
by moonlight

Friday night in May.


The bottoms of my shoes

are clean

from walking in the rain.


Glow worm

sleeping on this flower -

your light's on.

"The bird hunting a locust is unaware of the hawk hunting him...”

On the weekends I love to let the chickens roam while I sit and read a book in the backyard. I'll scan the skies for hawks and watch the birds and squirrels romp or make a nest. There has been much nest building lately. I don't know much about hawks, only that they like chicken. I thought hawk season was in the fall and that they feared humans.


I then noticed that there were birds flying just below it and in the trees but it wanted chicken. I was afraid of talons in my eyes or a sharp beak going through my skull. I saw The Birds, I know what can happen. I had that sensation of wanting to move faster but feeling like I was just operating in slow motion. I have never experienced that in waking life. I have had a few dreams where I am being chased by a wild dog or some huge, angry, wild animal and I try to seek coverage in my car or my home, only to find locked doors and fumbling for a key all the while growing more and more anxious, frightened and freaked out. I don't know how those dreams end.
I do hope that there isn't a nest nearby. I love watching hawks, from afar, as they glide in the sky, way, way above me. The wing span of this thing was impressive but my admiration is in retrospect, at the time it was scary. There is a rather large nest in one of the trees and I thought it belonged to a squirrel. However, I observed a squirrel just the other day running limb to limb until it came to the nest and then freaked out, running almost falling from the tree. It was funny but now I wonder if that could that have been a hawk Mr Squirrel saw or hawk eggs?

Looking up hawk and squirrel nests on Google images, I'm discovering that they look very much alike. Eek, horrors! Well, it could go either way. Time to break out the patio table umbrella and that chicken playpen thing I bought last fall. It protects the girls while they free range, I was hoping I could keep it in the shed.

Frenzied gatherings lead to loss

I was in the mood for Katherine Anne Porter tonight, so in the mood for Katherine Anne Porter and I've searched my bookshelves and she has yet to turn up. My KAP reader is not to be found.

The only scenario to account for it's disappearance was it's possible placement on a small pile of books to be given away at Half-Price Books. I probably got fifty cents for it and now I have to buy it back  for $5 or maybe even $8... they have so much unexplained overhead these days. That frenzied gathering of so-called stale reads I was putting together a few months ago has led to a disappointing evening. I should have slowed down, I should have been more methodical. I can part with all sorts of things but not books. When will I learn?

I was too tired to walk or drive to Half-Price and yet too awake to  just forget about the whole thing. Could I have found the story online? Perhaps but I don't want to read Katherine Anne Porter online. Could a Kindle have helped? No, absolutely not, I loathe the Kindle as well and refuse to accept it as a substutute for a book of any sort. I would rather die of frustration searching for Katherine Anne Porter's words in the files of my mind than pick up a Kindle. I'll search the files of my mind, there is a least imagery left over from her stories I have read if the exact sentences are not.  Maria Concepcion...cactus.

Well, now I am in the mood for Anais Nin. MFK Fisher always led me to KAP and she always led me to Anais Nin. I am fickle that way. Time for tea and Anais.

In Youth is Pleasure

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2012

I don't fear 2012. Maybe I should? Hmmm, I'd like to because it seems more exciting and there is much to read on all the different catastrophes that are due to happen but I just can't seem to get all caught up in the drama that mightcouldistobe. The reason we don't know what happens in 2012 is because the Spaniards destroyed the Mayan culture. One bishop in particular, Diego De Landa Calderon, threw all their writings into a fire. A single act of disrespect and destruction has created a terrible anxiety for some individuals today.

I once saw a ruin in Quintana Roo that was part of an altar. There was a hole in the stone and it was said it corresponded with the winter solstice. Tulum was populated by large, brown and grey iguanas. They occupied the ruins. They stood on either side of entrances to what were once large rooms and entrances to what I imagined were regal quarters. I would stare these reptiles in the eye and in them seemed to be everything you ever wanted to know about the place. They lived there, slept there, bred there, the ruins were theirs. If the energy of the past slept in those rocks and they slept with them, they must hear or feel everything and therefore know.

Tulum was on a cliff overlooking the beach. It was a bit windy that day and the wind in my ears mixed with the waves on the beach below created an audible shhhhhhhhhhhh. It was a warm September morning and I wanted to feel hot sun on my skin but the sun was weakening. It was not intense like a nice July sun. It was hard to pay attention to the guide because the place inspired so many thoughts and feelings.  Stories flew in and out of my head, there was some time traveling and then I was grounded, firmly planted and present but the tour guide had gone.

I noticed someone speaking Italian was messing with an iguana. I couldn't help but dislike that. Those iguanas were really so dignified and unlike any others I had ever seen in a zoo or pet store. It was painful to watch the poor thing taunted by the same tourist who just the night before had spoken horribly to a young waiter. The Italian speaker kept asking for a limon and the waiter kept bringing him limons. Limon to the tourist was a yellow lemon but to the waiter it was a green lime, and nothing else. That was such a rude scene and I instantly disliked this group. I managed to sring together , "Arresto per favore" and smiled nervously. They just walked away. The iguana and I stared at each other for awhile then it closed one eye making it appear to wink. Made me want to curtsy but I resisted and made my way down to the beach.

When I think of 2012 I only think of these creatures unable to speak, guarding the secrets that will remain mysteries. No one knows what will happen on 12/21/2012 but my feeling is nothing cataclysmic. Just be nice to those iguanas that occupy Mayan ruins.

Turn the set on, it's time for my program

My earliest memories of television watching include the Lawrence Welk Show. Watching the show now, because I still tune in, I can see why it appealed to a kid.  I was probably drawn to the bubbles, the music and movement, the big smiles and once we got a color television set, the technicolored costumes.  Captain Kangaroo, Mr Rogers, Banana Splits, The Monkees...it was all music, movement and color.

While dining at Houston's a few weeks ago, I overheard someone about my age say, " Yeah, I went up to the desk to checkout the DVDs and the librarian lady asked me if I was checking these out for a grandparent. I said no, I  just love Lawrence Welk. They are out on DVD!"  When I watch the show I don't know where I go exactly but I'm gone, complete veg.  Perhaps I should look into thes DVDs. 

I really loved Anacani because my mother did. They were both from the same part of Mexico. I wanted to be Anacani one day. The Lennon sisters were part Mexican-American but I never knew that until much later. My mother loved Welk's accent. When they show the audience members dancing I always remember hearing my mom say, "How sad, all those people are dead now."  Well, I'm sure they are now.

Even in my teens I could still stomach the Champagne Lady and accordians. It contains much that is cringeworthy.  At the same time, maybe for some people, the show has the ability to placate on some level. For some reason.  At the same time, I understand how the Stepford streak, all that polyester and Gleem tainted smiles could creep a person out. I wish I had stopped that Houston's customer to ask  her if she just sort of goes blank while she watches the show. When it's over I wonder if she feels like she just time traveled. For me, it is like a good nap or something. I wonder when Lawrence Welk will cease to echo at nursing homes. I know of at least two people of my generation who will be watching the program.

"Then came spring, the great time of traveling"...

Last Sunday Parisa wore a sundress and I dug out a linen ensemble from my out of season clothing bin. It was such a warm day. We brunched at Eastside Cafe, walked around their garden and admired the miniature roosters crowing their hearts out. We drove with the windows down and visited Mr Gage for a spell then hung out in my backyard until a large dark cloud blew over us, pulling a chilly breeze along. Inside.

I can wish for Spring. I have enjoyed winter thoroughly.  That weekend in the teens made me so happy I found it hard to remember the exact sensation of 104. Mother Nature made her amends. There was even snow as if to beg for foregiveness.  But last week, when I looked at our dormant lawn , I spotted  the greenest little blades of grass buried under the leaves. My fig trees are budding and the mourning doves have started up again.  I'm ready.

We had another sublime day, not as warm but just as beautiful. I noticed  these tiny, well formed flies. Baby flies?  Had they just been hatched or however it is that flies come into the world; or just not the typical housefly?  They were rather cute and seemed to have better manners than what tends to land on me in June. It's time to make plans.

That there is some strange weather you've been having...

What Parisa left behind...