The day of my memory wasn’t on some luscious sandy expanse with clear blue waters. It was in fact a rather dreary day at Donegal Bay, and the carpet of jellyfish on the surf looked almost as if you could walk on them, they were so thick. What was amazing to a small boy was the shells on the shore, there were hundreds, maybe thousands on them. As I look back at it they were not pristine in any way. I am sure most were broken or irregular, but I enjoyed collecting them. In the end, I had a little suitcase full of them, though the case was probably not much larger than a lunch box.
Little treasure chest Full of King Neptune’s riches Shells of memory
There were many aspects of the Philippines that gave the impression of a tropical paradise. There was dense greenery, and bright sunshine which seemed to hit its peak daily before the afternoon rain. After duty hours there was the nightlife, which all too often led to making our way back to base in the dark. Some of the features which still feature in a carved desk set of mine were the mountain peaks, one of which was the ill-fated Mount Pinatubo.
Tropical green peak Volcanic supernova Brought the mountain low
Dave stepped from his campsite and strode towards the river. It was a wonderful day for fly-fishing. He had tied some new ones just the night before with a sturdy looking black feather he had found near the river bank the day before. He had been surprised to find such a large sable feather; it seemed much bigger than one from a crow or even a raven. It was, however, perfect for his endeavour. Surely this kind of feather would be able to catch some fish.
As he made his first cast of the day, a huge eagle swooped from above and effortlessly swept a four pound rainbow trout from the water.
Talons powerful Predator swift from the sky Trout unsuspecting
Many say they can see the face of a man in the moon, but is this truly the case? Is the fair light of that countenance masculine, with a harsh brightness; or timid and gentle? A man in the moon? No, surely a maiden graces our nights.
Sweet Lunar maiden Gracing the clear midnight sky Bright beams night to fill
They called it a hike, but it was more like a marathon while carrying bowling balls. Twelve miles with full pack, rifle, and helmet. Did I mention that it was raining and the red clay swallowed not only boots but legs to the knee. Hike indeed.
Hike of rain and mud Burdened and wet to the sin Twelve miles and then warmth
My nineteenth birthday was spent as part of the volunteer work staff at a Christian camp in Upstate New York. My primary duty was washing dishes in the kitchens, and in particular the pots and pans. It was a hot and time consuming job.
Not wanting to make a fuss, and to do my duty, I allowed my birthday to pass away virtually unnoticed. As I was finishing my shift, one of the supervisors asked if I had had a good day. I responded by saying it had been busy, but not bad; though it was kind of strange for a birthday.
He said that I should have said something, and they would have done something special. He then asked if I had ever been sailing. When I replied that I hadn’t, he took me down to the lake and gave me a private lesson.
A sailing lesson On a birthday nearly missed Friendship on a lake
They stood before the cascading waters and spray of the majestic waterfall. The world was theirs, full of beauty and promise. Hand-in-hand they gazed into their future.
Beautiful – Plunging Uncontrolled by man’s power Calming – Turbulence
She stood before the cascading waters and spray of the majestic waterfall. Her world like the waters themselves, careening. Widowed, she walked away alone.
This week Colleen has challenged us to write a poem in the haibun form. A haibun, she explains follows this format:
Begin the haibun with a title. The title should hint at something barely noticeable in the beginning which comes together by the ending.
Your haibun prose can be written in present or past tense including, first person (I), third person (he/she), or first-person plural (we).
Subject matter: autobiographical prose, travel journal, a slice of life, memory, dream, character sketch, place, event, or object. Focus on one or two elements.
Keep your prose simple, all excessive words should be pared down or deleted. Nothing should be overstated.
The length can be brief with one or two sentences with a haiku, or longer prose with a haiku sandwiched between, to longer memoir works including many haiku.
There are different Haibun styles: Idyll: (One prose paragraph and one haiku) haiku/prose, or prose/haiku; Verse Envelope: haiku/prose/haiku; Prose Envelope: prose/haiku/prose, including alternating prose and verse elements of your choice.
I have chosen to write in the prose envelope form.
In the challenge, Colleen asked that we try to incorporate Frank J. Tassone’s photo (below). I had first thought to write using it and having it as the scene of a “fall,” but that seemed too dark when I delved into it. I then took the licence of making the scene “a little bit further along the cliff at a waterfall,” and setting the narrative on two separate dates spaced years apart.
The Bard of Avon, William Shakespeare was a writer of fame in his own day, and his legacy lives on in our English tongue. He brought dozens of words and phrases into the language, and peradventure many may soundeth peculiar to thine ears, but they nonetheless are his legacy. One of Lord Strange’s Men, he later built his own theatres in London.
A West-Midlands man
Now Thames-bank Global renowned
First among men Strange
A haibun written for d’Verse’s Haibun Monday 4/27/20: A Portrait of Two Masters