Loch Ness

At the Alltsaigh Youth Hostel we watched and watched the blue-black water for "Nessie." In the kitchen was a drawing of the monster as half-submerged "tires" with a pointy head attached.

   I  keep my watch. . .

midsummer
a ripple
in the starlight

(Published 3/11 by Sketchbook.)

Exposure

I have this recurring fantasy. I travel to northern Ontario and hire a bush pilot who flies me to the Great Slave Lake. It is a one way trip. I carry my trusty Ronco Survival Knife that I bought for $19.95 in a weak moment a few years ago after watching one of those late night infomercials. The top of the large serrated hunting knife is a compass, which screws off to reveal fish hooks, a bit of line, some matches, a folded up saw. I take one eighth of my ancestors with me, the Cherokee relations. I will survive the bitter cold and the bears and wolves. I will fish, find wild berries and rob honey trees. Lichen broths are supposed to be nutritious, even tasty, I understand.

filling the feeders
I watch for
the Northern Flicker

(Published Simply Haiku - Spring 2009)

Copyright 2009 -2010, Thomas Martin, all rights reserved.

Reading Gaol

Well, we spent a couple of nights in an all-night laudramat somewhere east of Marble Arch.   We had completely run out of money during that phase of our London experience.  At least we had shelter, and found some measure of companionship with the assortment of characters doing laundry during the wee hours.

There was the drunken gentleman, who never quite got around to reciting Oscar Wilde's, " The Ballad of Reading Gaol."  He went on for hours preparing to quote the poem, but never actually uttered a single word of Wilde. . .

foggy night

a cobweb catches

the glow of fluorescents




Copyright 2010 Thomas Martin, all rights reserved.

(Published October, 2010 - Contemporary Haibun Online)

Blackberry Picking

I see grandmother's bonnet moving above the bramble. My mother tells me not to keep eating berries. My little pail fills so slowly.

mouth drips purple juice
clothes torn, skin bleeding, itching
spill berries again


(Published Contemporary Haibun: Volume 10)

Haibun - The Maroon Blazer

Mother insisted upon bringing Dad's maroon blazer to Oregon when she came to visit after his death. She just could not bear to let it hang unused in his closet. She wanted me to "get the use out of it."

I finally gave it to Goodwill.

could not ever wear
his old clothes burning my skin
lonely child once more

Published in Contemporary Haibun Online

Haibun - Moonlight

I remember the first time my family rented a summer vacation cottage at Long Beach, North Carolina. Darkness had fallen by the time we finished unloading the car. I came in with the last load and after dropping the box in the kitchen, went out to the screen porch where Mother was standing.

first night
the full moon floats
on silver waves

Every now and then through the years, she would remind me of how beautiful she found the moonlit ocean and how precious the memory. I remember those pitchers of iced tea, countless meals, covering my brother and me with lotions. She could drink coffee and gaze at the ocean for hours.

waist deep in the sea
"can't you come in a little"
current pulls at my feet

Haibun - Getting Rid of the Festiva

I tell you no one wanted that car. We kept it parked in the driveway for years while we made payments on Saturns and bought Subarus and Hondas and tried to ignore it. Meanwhile, I would drive it once a week to Trader Joe's or the Beaverton Library.

driver's door opens
chains pulled across pipes
runs great, good mileage

I tried to donate it (only had about 102,000 miles). I called all the charities that take old cars (United Way, Cancer Research, even Kars4Kids) but upon hearing it was a 1989 Ford Festiva with a key jammed in the ignition refused to consider it.

I finally had to call a junk dealer who offered us a $100, and who came with a big smile and a ruddy, little Pomeranian
that waited obediently to one side while he hoisted the car up on his wrecker.

The dog yapped all the while but seemed happy. She made me smile, and my heart bubbled a little.

just as Samantha
began licking my fingers
five 20's changed hands



Published in Contemporary Haibun Online

Haibun - Weather

I last saw you on Midsummer Commons
It was rainy bright and you turned away.
We wanted words of prophets,
even weathermen.

the wind's rough coldness
gray bark, the brown fallen leaves
the rain still falling



Published in Contemporary Haibun Online

Haibun - The Farmer

Raised on a farm in the South, Father ended up farming most of his life. He loved the land, the growing things, and the animals. He went off to work early in the morning whistling and singing. We kids would tag along to work in the fields and secretly hope for early thunderstorms.

early morning stars
the chilly feel of wet dew
the sound of roosters

When he was about to retire, he could no longer make a living as a farmer. Elderly, he had trouble finding work in the rural area of the South where he lived. The only job he could find was working for a chicken processing plant. They had thousands of chickens crammed in cages and behind wire fences awaiting slaughter.

They gave him a job using a heating iron to burn off part of the chickens’ beaks, so the they would not damage each other through pecking.

He lasted a week
Making pets of them all
started smoking again


(Published Haibun Today - 2008)