Here is a piece done in one of my favorite forms of verse, the haibun

Contrasts
(a haibun)

a May afternoon
an old man rocks on the porch -
smoke curls from his pipe

From the ashes of my youth, where lusty passion once burned and war napalmed hopes and dreams, many things have grown…flowers, tall trees, tasty fruits…and more than a few weeds.
Protruding here and there are the bare bones of reality and inescapable mortality.
Dwelling on such things is like a force of nature…it is neither good nor bad but can be either,

from a bloom of silk
a warm, delicate fragrance
dreams of yesterday

The sun sits behind clouds pregnant with rain, casting a rainbow with its final rays.
What a spectacular end to the day!
I return to my chores, separating and folding laundry, our intermingled clothing becoming a dichotomy of texture and hue…like parts of a flower…rough, sturdy leaves and soft, scented diaphanous petals.
As the light fades, the rain begins again, its steady liquid hiss a blank canvass on which my mind finger-paints memories.

© ewrichardson 2008