22 Oct 2016

Somewhere, Marcus, somewhere in a really big closet, smelling of cinnamon and mothballs and last year, blankets of snow are unfolding themselves, preparing to cover the feet of the earth. You can hear the cold in the gloaming, its shoes crackling on the russet quatrains of fall.

There’s poetry here too, where it cannot snow, where the choices are either heat or rain, where a languid warmth curls around stray thoughts that linger in the afternoon haze.

The heart is a restless bird, constantly singing for a new sky. In a monochrome tedium, words stick together and stale poems flatten against the roof of your mouth.

But colour is only a state of mind, the most vibrant dawn can look like yesterday’s orangeade stain, a muddy reminder of unspent darkness.

Feel the wind Marcus, I predict grey rain tonight.

an iridescent wing
slices the horizon
quickly she hides a smile

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18 thoughts on “22 Oct 2016

  1. That sounds a bit like my closet (or garage, really) with all the winter things waiting… possibly in vain, since winters here in England are much milder than in Switzerland.
    I particularly loved the lines starting with ‘But colour is only a state of mind’.

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  2. Love the sensory details in the haibun ~ This part was amazing:

    But colour is only a state of mind, the most vibrant dawn can look like yesterday’s orangeade stain, a muddy reminder of unspent darkness.

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  3. I just love the voice of these musings. I do agree with Bjorn…these conversations with Marcus would make a wonderful book! So many breathtaking lines but I especially like…”In a monochrome tedium, words stick together and stale poems flatten against the roof of your mouth.”

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  4. There is what you are saying, then there is the way you are saying it. Then there is what you are really saying. It is a soothing trip to Wonderland, a labyrinth with flowers on the way reading this. There is always so much to see when reading your haibun. I really enjoyed the experience again.
    I was struck by the way you mentioned the roof of “your” mouth, and now understand the narrator is not static in viewpoint, but can reach in far to Marcus, just as the theory that Mona Lisa’s smile is actually Leonardo da Vi ci’s.
    You stepped again, into another viewpoint with your haiku (she), and that made all the difference.
    Your haibun are a joy.

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