“The Barn”

“The Barn”
© 2013 by Michael L. Utley

On weed-strewn verge of fallow field
The barn still stands, a silent revenant
Of ages past, a mournful sentiment
Amid the dying elms concealed

Its boards the hue of ancient bones
The wind has long since scoured paint away
As season after season rendered gray
Once brilliant lively crimson tones

Dead teasel husks caress its skin
A memory of lilac, wild rose
And hollyhock a melancholy prose
No longer whispered in the din

Of bitter zephyrs in the loft
That magnify each sorrow-laden groan
Each pensive sigh and every hopeless moan
Of dreams denied and yearnings scoffed

On cupola atop the roof
The antiquated weather vane points north
In rusted rictus, ever drawing forth
That demon wind on cloven hoof

Inside, the haymow lost to time
Illusory, a phantom from the past
Whose gilded straws have disappeared at last
An unseen grotesque paradigm

The ladder to the loft on high
Clings stubbornly amid the swirling motes
That dance in hellish pace to eldritch notes
The song of death, fey herald’s cry

And from the loft extends the beam
That transits barn so high above wood floor
Above the stack of hay that is no more
And from this, like some ghastly dream

There hangs a rope no longer there
Recast ephemeral by passing years
Whose insubstantial form allays no fears
Whose memory I’m doomed to bear

All silence now, sere winter’s grasp
Has stilled the air, the motes drift in the night
In moonbeams pale, and from the rope drawn tight
About my neck, my dying gasp

Lilts softly in the midnight frost
As it has done each night for years gone by
Eternal recompense to rectify
All that I’ve done, all that I’ve lost

(Author’s note: I debated whether to post this piece for quite a while. Some of the imagery could be considered disturbing, particularly in the last two stanzas. I used the narrator’s suicide as a metaphor for guilt, shame and loss and how those emotions can haunt us for a lifetime. I considered inserting a trigger warning at the beginning and spent several days researching studies and opinions on such tactics, with the results varying widely and no real general consensus met on how to handle sensitive or disturbing material. In the end, I decided against a trigger warning for several reasons, and chose to add this note instead.

If you or someone you know is suicidal, please talk to a healthcare professional, call your local area suicide hot-line or discuss it with a friend or family member. Above all, know you’re not alone. There is help available to get you through this difficult time.)

“A Few Haiku (9)”

(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

(#49)

The silent garden
My mother’s memories
Germinate

…..

(#50)

There is never joy
In the dark night of the soul
I embrace the dawn

…..

(#51)

I still hear the sound
Of breezes in bamboo groves
When I think of you

…..

(#52)

Some days all I need
Is to watch the spotted cat
Chasing butterflies

…..

(#53)

It is my hope when
Kiku bloom in time to come
You’ll remember me

…..

(#54)

My old hoe is dull
And the weeds resist its blade
Still I toil on

“A Few Haiku (8)”

(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

(#43)

Sweat upon my brow
Dries to crystal salt; my toil
Earns ivory crown

…..

(#44)

Early morning mist
Mother cloud comes home to nest
Earth is safe and warm

…..

(#45)

Insects whispering
Secrets filled with mystery
As I plant the rice

…..

(#46)

In the pond I learned
All I need to know of life
Koi glide peacefully

…..

(#47)

My old white dog tries
To catch the swift stream but he
Only ends up wet

…..

(#48)

In these callused hands
There is dirt beneath the nails
Strength and wisdom too

“A Tanka Trio (7)”

(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

(#19)

When I sought knowledge
I opened my eyes and ears
When I sought wisdom
I opened my mind and heart
Rain and sunshine for my soul

…..

(#20)

In my winter dreams
I walk barefoot in the spring
Sink my toes in loam
In the green konara copse
Gathering the brown acorns

…..

(#21)

Near the red footbridge
Piebald koi drowse in the shade
Of lotus blossoms
As cicadas call my name
Welcoming me home again

“Red Hats”

“Red Hats”
(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

“The end came just like the fella predicted,”
The old man said. “They were legion,
Wrapped in flags and carrying crosses,
And they were insane.”

He regarded me with a resigned calmness
Across the flames of the campfire,
Studying me intently as his eyes flickered,
His haggard face ensconced in a fiery
Red-yellow glow. At his feet, a small black dog
Lay curled in a tight ball of oblivious slumber
Beneath frigid late-autumn stars,
Occasionally twitching in some
Alien canine dream. The denuded woods
Surrounding us were silent save for
Sporadic cries that echoed remotely in the dark.

“They caught us unaware,” the old man continued.
“Their lies were slippery and darkly enticing,
And they awoke a feral animal bloodlust
In the gullible low-hanging fruit. It was
Modern-day sorcery, a triggering of
Mass psychosis, a mental blitzkrieg,
A philosophical paradigm shift of
Cult-like proportions.”

He stirred the fire with a stick as he
Gazed into the embers, scrying memories
Of the end of all things. The dog let out a
Muffed whimper and kicked weakly in its sleep.

“You never know a man’s heart until you
Dangle a piece of raw meat in front of him,”
The old man said, still lost in his contemplation
Of the embers. “All it took was the raw meat
Of lies and fear and hate, bow-tied in a
Pretty box of false patriotism. Guns and ammo
Included.”

At this, he looked at me through the fire,
His eyes burning. “And they had all the guns.
And when they ran out of bullets, they
Used their fists. And when they ran out of
Enemies, they fell on each other like a
Pack of rabid hyenas…and their
Mad orange god was pleased…”

To the east, the bilious moon climbed
Above the bony fingers of the trees
As a gust of wind kicked up sparks
In the fire, sending them heavenward
Like a swarm of hellish fireflies.

“After that, it was just mop-up duty
For the shock troops,” the old man said.
“The base had fulfilled its sacred duty
Of wanton slaughter and blasphemous
Self-sacrifice. The plutocrats performed
Their symbolic fellatio on the
Mad orange god, then everyone hunkered
And bunkered down. And this…” he said,
Nodding at the cold dead woods,
At the distant insensate stars, at the bloated moon
Clawing its way up the night sky,
At the howls of the damned echoing
In the darkness, at the utter extinction
Of all hope, “…is what’s left…”

“A Few Haiku (7)”

(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

(#37)

Swathed in winter’s arms
Chilly bosom hushes earth
Snowy lullaby

…..

(#38)

As heron’s plume drifts
Away on a silent stream
Memories of you fade

…..

(#39)

Do worms of the earth
Dream of sunlight; are their minds
As blind as their eyes

…..

(#40)

I’ve tried to catch the
Fleeting breeze in my hands but
I am unworthy

…..

(#41)

In the thunderstorm
Footprints filled with rain water
I have lost my way

…..

(#42)

Near the waterfall
Yellow birds drink from the cups
Of purple flowers

“A Few Haiku (6)”

(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

(#31)

Autumn ground mists rise
Earth gives up its ghosts as moon
Summons spirits home

…..

(#32)

Stones in shallow stream
Smooth and round as heron’s eggs
Current tends her nest

…..

(#33)

In a bamboo cage
Finch sings of the open skies
It will never see

…..

(#34)

In a forest pond
Lotus float like small wasen
Laden with blossoms

…..

(#35)

Mud on waraji
Sticks like bitter memories
I cannot let go

…..

(#36)

Perfume of willows
And the laughter of the stream
Hope is still alive

“Eleven Days”

“Eleven Days”
(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

The wind blows
Those shadows deeper
Into gloaming recesses
Of pine corridors
As aspens
Denuded and shamed
By autumn’s fickle fury
Huddle shivering
In dim dusk

In my heart
Those eleven days
Of silence tore me apart
Like carrion birds
My soul chipped
Away like frost-cracked
Rock on frigid granite tor
Mind numbed by gelid
Confusion

How could I
Have foreseen my gift
For you would shatter your heart
Send you spiraling
Into your
Personal abyss
Disrupt delicate balance
Leave you retreating
In the dark

How could I
Have foreseen my love
For you would turn you away
In anger and fear
When all I
Wanted was to say
I would wait for you as you
Sought to find yourself
Once again

I was so
Afraid that you would
Disappear into the void
Of black depression
Lose yourself
Among demons that
Barred you from the healing flame
Of lucid mind and
Sanity

I was so
Afraid all was lost
All we built on tenuous
Foundations destroyed
Fragile trust
Dashed upon the rocks
Of hopelessness and despair
Fledgling dreams of joy
Now sundered

And how could
I foresee that when
You returned to me at last
Those eleven days
Of heartache
Gone in cautious hope
Never to return were but
A harbinger of
Our demise

That the next eleven days
Would last a lifetime
Without you

The wind blows
My sorrow deeper
Into gloaming recesses
Of my heart and mind
Memories
Denuded and shamed
By regret’s fickle fury
Huddle shivering
In dim dusk

“A Few Haiku (5)”

(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

(#25)

Fronds torn by the storm
Willow bathes her wounds in tears
Heaven cries above

…..

(#26)

In konara copse
Broken axe is silent now
Entombed by the ferns

…..

(#27)

In my sorrow
I doubt even sparrow’s joy
Can restore my heart

…..

(#28)

In chill autumn rain
Memories of sakura
Memories of you

…..

(#29)

There is bird-song when
I see my bare-footed love
Smiling demurely

…..

(#30)

All I wish for you
Is that you are happy and
You’ll remember me

“A Tanka Trio (6)”

(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

(#16)

I would gladly give
All I have or ever will
For the simple truths
Of the frog in Basho’s pond
And Williams’ red wheelbarrow

…..

(#17)

On a cattail
A dragonfly preens his wings
Iridescently
There is beauty everywhere
If only my heart could see

…..

(#18)

I am the mountains
I am clouds and sea and trees
I am wild flowers
I am all things of the earth
And sky; stardust enfolds me