“A Few Haiku (39)”

On By Mike U.In Poetry

(c) 2022 by Michael L. Utley

(#229)

snap-beans in a wooden bowl
and tears on her cheeks
my mother’s sorrow

…..

(#230)

pre-dawn mourning
her eyes on the horizon
searching for the light

…..

(#231)

in konara copse
my soul seeks solace
in the still shadows

…..

(#232)

my reflection gone
even the stream forsakes me
as I drift away

…..

(#233)

these numb fingers
I can’t feel the difference
between hope and despair

…..

(#234)–(for Eivor and Pearl)

beneath verdant trees
joy and peace walk side by side
on the dappled path

51 thoughts on ““A Few Haiku (39)””

    1. Thanks for your enthusiastic support, Grace. It really means so much to me. I’m so glad you liked this bunch. It involved a bit of a different approach than I usually employ. Just trying some different things to get the words flowing again. I appreciate your comments so much. Thanks again! 🙂

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  3. A beautiful and moving series Mike and Eivor and Pearl say a special thank you for the gorgeous haiku you wrote for them too 💚🍃 We love the way you capture the spirit of the forest and the dappled light on the path as if you are walking right there with us. Wishing you a blessed weekend and much love from our house to yours 🐾💛🐾

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    1. Thanks so much, Xenia. I wanted to do something for Eivor and Pearl, and the new header image on your blog (featuring them walking side by side into the forest) came immediately to mind. I’ve seen several of your photos with dappled light on the forest path and it’s so beautiful and magical. I have a special fondness for the dogs and wanted to reach out to them some way. I’m so glad you liked it. Please give Eivor and Pearl a big hug for me. Thanks for your kindness, Xenia. Much love to all of you from Colorado. 🙂

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  4. For me, good haiku are characterized by the fact that they can present complex topics in a few words and that they tell a story that strikes a chord in the hearts of others. Your haiku not only meet these requirements but are also literature at its finest.

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    1. Thanks, Friedrich. That’s very kind of you to say and I’m humbled by your words. I’m glad these held meaning for you. Thanks again for your wonderful words of support. It means a lot to me. 🙂

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  5. these numb fingers
    I can’t feel the difference
    between hope and despair
    Dear Mike from where do you get the depth of the sea, it’s profound,,,
    Hope and despair mingled or hazy or overlapped or modulated❤️
    You puzzled me , with your magical words😊

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    1. Thanks so much, Reena. To be honest, life has left me pretty numb, to the point where I sometimes can’t feel much at all. Fleeting happiness or crushing despair–it all seems to feel the same, hold the same diminished hues, and speak to me in the same melancholy voice. I was looking at my hands when this one came to mind. My fingers experience numbness due to neck problems, and it was an apt metaphor for emotional and spiritual numbness. I think if we live long enough, all of us will experience “the depth of the sea,” as you so eloquently put it. Sometimes it feels like those experiences are crushing us and we can’t breathe or feel much anymore. I like writing about it even though it’s a somber topic. Perhaps there are others who feel the same way, and perhaps they won’t feel alone knowing there are people who understand. Thanks as always for your kindness. I really appreciate it. 🙂

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  6. The bittersweet musings of a tired mind and heart. I can relate to quite a few, Mike. I sometimes feel that without the sorrow, life just isn’t real. Let the soul have its way and drown the senses in new learnings. Beautiful writing! 🙂

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    1. Thanks, Terveen. I agree with you–it seems sometimes pain is the only thing that lets me know I’m still alive. I write from experience and from my heart and soul, and this is what comes out because it’s what’s there. These are the nuggets I mine from my life. I remember my freshman year of college and the creative writing class I took that winter. There were a few girls in that class who wrote nothing but “happy-crappy” poetry about how wonderful life was, and one girl even used the phrase “life is like a shiny new nickel.” I felt it was ridiculous on so many levels. I mean, maybe this girl had led a charmed, spoiled life for the first eighteen years of her existence; maybe she had never felt adversity or pain or trauma; maybe she was sheltered and coddled, I dunno… But her constant barrage of happy-crappy poetry offended me on a fundamental level. I kept thinking, “Real life is NOT like a shiny new nickel or a basket of kittens or a bowl of cherries. Nope, not even close.” So, I wrote a rebuttal poem to her poetry, a rebuttal that was surreal and grim and startling and blew the top off any notion that life was nothing but furry animals and lollipops. And I never showed that rebuttal poem to anyone. Never handed it in to the teacher. It was too dark, too painful, too weird. And too honest. I struggle with a lot of things and have all my life, and writing helps me sort of corral these things for a while. Counseling has helped, too, but there’s no magic pill for depression and PTSD. When I prick myself with my pen, this is what bleeds out. It’s cathartic, but it makes me wish I had some happiness that would bleed out as well. I’m thankful for the support and kind compliments I receive regarding my poetry. That means so much to me and gives me a little hope that maybe there’s a place for me in this world. So, I appreciate your support and encouragement and kind words. I know I’m a bleak poet, but I’ve come to accept that’s who I am. (I also ramble on forever, but hey, someone has to ramble, amirite?) 🙂

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      1. Mike, you keep expressing and writing. That’s the only ray of light that will help you feel, understand, and deal better. I’m right with you on happy crappy stuff. It’s just too sugary for me to swallow. Maybe it’s also my depressive nature and painful circumstances in life that make me refuse to believe this joyful life nonsense. I think every person can find a way to be stable and at peace just the way they are. The mind needs to be conditioned to act and react with some balance and logic. If I knew you back then, I would’ve made you submit that poem. There’s no shame in speaking one’s personal truth and opinion. We all have the right to be and let be. You are a great poet, awesome photographer, and wonderful writer. That’s a lot to be proud about no matter what. 🙂

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    2. Thanks so much, Terveen. I honestly wish I’d known you back then. It would have been so good to have someone around who understood, you know? Thank you so much for lending a caring ear and a compassionate heart. Your words of support and encouragement mean so much to me and they plant seeds of hope. I appreciate you. 🙂

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    1. Thanks, Daphny. Glad you liked these. And yes, I had a special one at the end where I shifted gears and turned my attention to nature, which always acts as a healing balm for me. I often wish I could live in a little hut in the forest and just be at peace like the ancient Japanese haiku masters of old. I think I’d have much more happiness to write about if I were surrounded by trees and streams and ferns rather than gravel and asphalt and exhaust fumes. I appreciate your kind words, as always. Thanks for your support. 🙂

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      1. I agree with you, even just a one day visit to nature has been quite relaxing and calming imagine staying among it, would bring out the very best in us. You’re most welcome, Mike! 🤗

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  8. Captivating words, Mike 🙂 I really enjoyed these, especially #229 and #232. That image stays in my mind with the reflection drifting away in the water. Feels so sad and delicate at the same time.

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    1. Thank you kindly, Kirsten. #229 is painful, for sure, and based on some memories I have of my mom. #232 is an interesting mental image as I imagined watching my reflection detach from me and drift away on the current of the thoughtless stream, and it seemed like a good metaphor for loneliness and loss and betrayal. I have another haiku in an earlier collection about my shadow fleeing from me. It’s a theme that interests me–the concept of our own selves abandoning us. (#79 found here: https://silentpariah.com/2021/11/21/a-few-haiku-14/). Thanks a bunch for the nice comment as always. It means so much to me when my writing resonates with people. It makes wading through these melancholy morasses of memories worth it. 🙂

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  9. Wow, Mike. A great collection! My favourites are 229 and 233. I hope you don’t mind me saying this… what would you think about moving the top line of 233 to the bottom? It’s very haikuish to put the apparently “odd” line at the end. These are so strong with their emotional punch. Anyway, ignore my suggestion if you don’t like it. It was just a thought that struck me.

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    1. Many thanks for the kind words. I actually debated the structure of #233 for quite a while before I settled on its current form. I was lost in thought, staring at my hands, and just sort of thinking “These numb fingers…” (I have neck problems and they cause numbness in my fingers, especially the tips, as well as some weakness.) I didn’t want to write a haiku about my fingers, however, so I extrapolated that numbness–that lack of being able to feel–to my mental and spiritual self, and that became the focus of the haiku. So, I used the opening line about my fingers as a sort of establishing shot, where I’d give a sense of overall place and meaning to the more important lines that would follow. I played around with moving that line to the bottom but it only seemed to take away from the real meaning of the poem, which was a sort of spiritual and mental numbness. Had I left that line at the bottom, it would have taken on greater meaning in it’s “odd line” sense, and would have lessened the impact of the other two lines. Since I wanted to focus on the other lines, I decided to move it back to the top and use it as a sort of stepping stone or threshold to introduce the more meaningful lines. I think it works better this way for me as far as what I wanted to express. I’m certainly not against switching things around while writing haiku and senryu. The first one in this collection (#229) has the long line as the first line since it just works better that way. After all, the Western interpretation of haiku (5-7-5 syllable format) is only an arbitrary idea that was imposed on the traditional Japanese format, which was never really translated to English accurately. I watched this YouTube video a while back (and again just now) and it gives a lot of insight into where the Western interpretation of Japanese haiku format goes awry: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zf4CSYgsfhw . I used to hold myself hostage to the typical 5-7-5 syllable format until I began reading Japanese haiku (in English, o’ course) more widely, then I realized I was putting unnecessary restraints on myself. The Western interpretation is incorrect, and the Japanese structure is still only a guideline, not something that’s set in stone. This was a liberating moment for me, and I think it helped me write better. I still find myself falling into the standard flawed Western format, but now I know I don’t have to be bound by it. Anyway, that was my thinking when I wrote #233. It just seems to express what I wanted to say better this way. I really appreciate your taking interest in this. I’m definitely open to learning and growing as a writer and a human. I appreciate it. 🙂

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    2. No worries. I’ve yet to write anything perfectly and I know I never will. Anything I can learn is definitely welcome. Thanks for this, by the way–I really like talking about the creative process (even though I ramble 😀 ). It’s a lot of fun to pick the minds of creative people. I’ve learned a lot by reading your poetry (your imagery is superb and your word play is wonderful!). 🙂

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      1. I studied creative writing at university. In that course we were expected to offer and receive constructive criticism. The blogging community seems to be less inclined to that and it’s probably what makes it such a safe and encouraging space. But personally, I am always open to constructive suggestions, even if, like you, I have my own reasons for choosing not to act on them. So ifbyou ever find line of mine odd or awkward or confusing, feel free to pipe up.

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    3. Oh, I had a creative writing class my freshman year of college. We had to do that, too, and man, was it awkward… The teacher essentially told us to “find something wrong” with someone else’s writing. It was unpleasant for me because I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. The critiques I received about my stuff consisted of “What does it mean? I don’t get it. What does this word mean?” I was four years older than all the other freshman and I was writing about serious themes (like what I write about here on my blog), and they were writing about summer vacations and puppies and football and UFOs and teen romance. I felt out of place there for many reasons as far as fitting in with fellow students, but my teachers better understood what I was doing and were really supportive. Overall, I liked the class but it was uncomfortable.

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      1. Oh that’s a shame that you had that age disconnect. I don’t remember ever having my feelings hurt by fellow-students. Responses to creativity are so subjective. In a single class, I might get totally contradictory advice and I would ultimately have to decide what I listened to. But if the teacher gave advice, you felt like you had to listen because they were grading you. That’s the bit that, in retrospect, bothers me a bit. Inevitably a teacher would like one student’s writing style better than others. But does that inherently mean that the preferred writing style was better? I loved my Uni course but I do wonder about the concept of “grading” creative works.

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    4. In my senior year of high school, I had an Advanced Placement English course (only two students in that class). The teacher was well-known as sort of a jerk (he was also one of my mom’s bosses at a grocery store, and my mom had plenty of tales of this guy’s petulance). This guy routinely edited my essays and stories to reflect his own political views. I wrote a satirical piece bashing then-President Ronald Reagan and his pathetic anti-democracy antics, and my teacher was a bit livid. He took offense and changed the ending of my piece, and his hand-written note at the end was essentially “There–I fixed it for you.” He also accused me of plagiarism due to the advanced level of my writing at age 17-18, and only apologized after seeing me write material in-class. I couldn’t stand the guy. But it brings to mind what you said about how teachers grade creative assignments and their own biases. I didn’t experience anything like that in college from teachers. But yes, grading creative work is terribly subjective and unfair at times, and can serve to crush a person’s spirit. That A.P. English teacher didn’t crush my spirit–he only fanned the flames of my desire to make myself heard without anyone censoring or altering my self-expression. Now, here in the States, the republican party is actively banning and burning books whose themes don’t sit well with their fascist authoritarian ideology. It’s no coincidence my A.P. English teacher was also a republican. Life is weird.

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    1. Thanks so much, Joan. Your beautiful haiku is such a wonderful validation of my writing. I appreciate it–and YOU–so much. Thank you for reading and taking time to comment, and please know I’m a big fan of your poetry and look forward to each of your new posts. Your kindness is so appreciated! 🙂

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    1. Thanks, Lamittan. Your positive reviews always make my day better. I’m thankful for your presence in this community. I appreciate your kind support as always. 🙂

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    1. Many thanks, Jeff. I appreciate your kindness more than you can know. It’s always a delight and a privilege to be able to write something, even if the themes are somber. That act of creation is so nurturing, you know? Much gratitude to you, good sir! 🙂

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    1. Thanks, Jaya. There’s something I’ve always found fascinating and healing about the silence of tree shadows, whether as a young farm boy exploring the woods or as an adult wandering through them with my camera. Peace and stillness, you know? My introvert soul always felt safe in the presence of trees. I’m glad this one spoke to you. Thanks so much for your kind words. Much appreciated. 🙂

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  15. Sometimes you read something so incredibly beautiful that you just have to do something to savour the moment you just experienced! I looked at the ceiling for quite sometime after I finished reading this collection. These are raw, beautiful and real, Mike, devastating and reassuring at the same time. This is what it means to be human! Being aware of the numbness

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    1. is still a few steps away from being completely indifferent, so it is not all that bad. That is what I keep telling myself. Sorry, for the interrupted comment, I had accidentally hit reply before finishing the sentence.

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      1. This really touched me, Aaysid. Writing about pain and despair and (especially for me) loneliness always feels a bit scary to me if I want to share what I’ve written. I never know if anyone will understand what I’m saying or if it even matters. To read what you’ve shared–to know these haiku meant something to you–well, it’s a beautiful feeling. I know what you mean when you say “Being aware of the numbness is still a few steps away from being completely indifferent.” So true, and it gives me hope in the sense that I’m still able to feel something, and I’m still capable of caring. And I do care, and I think that’s why so much is painful to me. It’s not all bad, though. Sometimes life suddenly throws some unexpected happiness at me and, although I don’t really know how to react when it happens, I’m still delighted and awed. Life can be beautiful at times–piercingly so–and I hope I never reach the point where I can no longer appreciate that beauty. Your words really leave a hopeful impact on me. Thanks so much for understanding my strange and somber poetry, Aaysid. Seriously, it’s a wonderful feeling to know someone else can identify with these emotions. Many thanks. 🙂 And no worries about the interrupted comment–I’ve done that too many times myself! 😀

        PS — I accidentally clicked the Like button on my own comment… 😀 Oh well… 🙂

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