“A Few Haiku (29)”

On By Mike U.In Poetry

(c) 2022 by Michael L. Utley

(#169)

my unsettled thoughts
blanket my winter world
in restless stasis

…..

(#170)

winter’s bitter dirge
prelude to spring’s soliloquy
hope waits in the wings

…..

(#171)

from womb to tomb
winter’s ever-present shroud
white cloak of despair

…..

(#172)

heaven’s secrets
whispered in the hiss of rain
on elm leaves

…..

(#173)

to those whose stories
go unheard by dearth of care
nature lends her ear

…..

(#174)

all hope is not lost
though harsh winter batters me
the golden suisen

36 thoughts on ““A Few Haiku (29)””

    1. I’m right with you on this. I can’t wait for spring. I peek out my back window and see the denuded elms against a brooding gray or listless counterfeit blue sky and just close my blinds and return to my cave to hibernate some more. I’m curious what the seasons are like in your part of the world… My favorite part of spring when I lived on the farm was when the burr clover began to carpet the ground in a luxurious green. Later on, the burrs would dry and harden and become a major nemesis to socks and shoe laces, but in early spring, the clover mat was so, so soft and brilliant. I live in town now and really miss the country. I haven’t seen any burr clover for years. I’m glad my wintery words touch your heart. Thanks, Terveen, for your kindness. πŸ™‚

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      1. Where I live in North India, the summers are long and very hot. First it’s dry heat and then humid heat which is even worse. March and October are nicer months weather-wise. It starts getting cold in November. January is absolutely freezing and foggy with hardly any sun. For a place that gets so hot, this degree of cold is unbearable. Hoping for warmer days ahead. Wish they come soon. What you have described is really beautiful, Mike. Can almost picture it. πŸ™‚

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    2. Southwest Colorado here. Four definite seasons, mostly dry heat in the summers although it’s too humid for me in July/August where I currently reside. I spent time in the southern U.S. so I understand about high humidity in the summers (yuck). Thanks for the info. It’s really fascinating. to learn about distant places. πŸ™‚

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    1. Thanks, Mark. Looks like another incident of an unintentional theme, eh? I didn’t notice this until you pointed it out. Makes sense, though, as thoughts are intertwined, so the likelihood of successive haiku having a similar theme–whether intentional or otherwise–is fairly good. And I find it interesting that, although I’m deaf, I still write a lot of poetry that refers to sounds. I can still hear some sounds but only a fraction of what I used to hear. Incidentally, during the early years of my hearing loss, I could still hear normally in my dreams. After a few years, however, I became deaf in my dreams, too. I suppose my poetry that references sounds is an unconscious lament for what I’ve lost. *shrugs* Anyway, I’m pleased you liked these. Much appreciated. πŸ™‚

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  4. These are marvelous pieces, my friend – they instill hope and assurance. Just look at this: “to those whose stories
    go unheard by dearth of care
    nature lends her ear.” Ain’t that motivating and liberating for you to say! Keep writing, keep putting smiles on our faces.

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    1. Thanks, Lamittan. Glad you liked that one. It’s really frustrating to have something to say and there’s no one who is willing to listen, you know? We miss out on the most amazing tales of life simply due to neglecting our duty to lend an ear and have compassion. I’ve always felt this way–ignored and invisible–and it’s one reason I’ve embraced nature to such a degree. Nature really does seem to listen when we need to communicate our dreams and desires. it’s a safe place, non-judgmental and patient, and sets us at ease when we’re troubled or lonely. We can get back to our roots and ground ourselves when we spend time in the wild places of the earth. Anyway, thanks for the kind comment. Much appreciated. πŸ™‚

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    1. Thanks, David. I was looking for a sort of paradoxical way of describing the sensation of being uncomfortably stuck in place–emotionally snowed-in–during the depths of winter. This phrase had a good ring to it, with plenty of sibilance. I’m glad it resonated with you and I appreciate your reading and kind comment, good sir! πŸ™‚

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    1. You always leave such thoughtful and insightful comments, Reena. It’s a real joy to read your reviews and I sincerely appreciate your kind words. I’m happy to know you liked this one. On the farm where I was raised, elm trees grew along the front yard fence as well as in the back yard. I remember the “summer monsoons” and the sounds of the rain on the leaves. Mysterious and soothing. Thanks again, Reena! πŸ™‚

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    1. Thank you kindly. I see it like this: suppose you’re walking about in the forest and you come upon a moss-covered stone. It’s beautiful, verdant green and calming. However, if you pick up that stone and turn it over, you may see worms and ants and beetles and grubs and other unsavory things. There’s a duality to most things, and I can’t help but try to explore that duality to see things from different angles. Nothing is quite what it appears; there are multiple facets to everything. Pain and joy are not necessarily mutually exclusive. I view winter as a massively depressing season with oddly fascinating aspects of beauty and wonder. So, I end up writing about seemingly contradictory emotions even though those emotions are both true to me. Also, it’s a wonderfully enjoyable mind-exercise to see things from various angles. And, of course, it depends upon mood changes which tinge how I see things at certain times. In short, I have fun with it and it helps me get through the darkness and continue hoping for the light. πŸ™‚

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    1. This is brilliant and really got me thinking. Much of the time, I get hung up on the darker emotions to the point where there’s no light anymore. I admire your ability to see beyond and reorganize things into a more positive whole. I really enjoy this, I have to tell you. it helps me dig deeper when I view my own writing to see what’s what’s hidden. πŸ™‚

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    1. Thanks so much for the kind words. I used elm leaves in this one as a way of saying thank you for your in-depth analysis of my haiku. I appreciate your insights and positivity. It’s enlightening and a lot of fun, too. So, thank you! πŸ™‚

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    1. Exactly! This is such an eloquent way of stating it. The “kind and fair” mother is a beautiful image, and the “land that is bare” perfectly describes what it’s like to go through life being ignored and feeling invisible. A spot-on analysis. πŸ™‚

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    1. So true. I find it remarkable that one of the most brilliantly hued flowers grows during the depths of winter. That warm golden glow of suisen provides guiding light in that seemingly eternal darkness of mid-to-late winter. A promise of hope to come. πŸ™‚

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    1. Thank you, good sir! Your words do so much to encourage me. You might be surprised at the anguish I experience every time I hit the Publish button… It’s agonizing to put pieces of myself out there in the blogosphere and wonder of they’ll be well received or trounced upon. I value your support and kind words so much, Rhyan. Glad you enjoyed these. πŸ™‚

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      1. Mike, if hitting “Publish” is your greatest anguish, then you’re living a better life than you imagine. Just look at the praise you get.

        And I’ve been trounced upon before, on Facebook and Twitter and other social platforms no longer in existence…if it happens (which I see no evidence of) you’ll survive it and carry on. It’s the way of the artiste. Critics be damned.

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    1. I’m sitting here grinning and feeling really humbled at the same time! πŸ™‚ Thanks, Diana. This made my day and really means a lot to me. And your haiku…absolutely charming and powerful and very much appreciated. “Thrums / deep in the season’s marrow…” Gorgeous. Thanks again for such a kind comment, Diana! πŸ™‚

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    1. I’m really touched by this… Thanks so much for such a wonderful comment. I love the antiquated sound of “dearth of care”–I used this phrase in another of my poems and it just felt right at home here as well. All of us have stories to tell and we all deserve to be heard. Your sentiment means so much to me. I’m so glad this one holds meaning for you! πŸ™‚

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