June 24th 2016

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still
····sun-struck—the daisy swiped by the speeding
········car
·
·
The berms and cutaways along the highway are sprinkled with ox-eye daisies. They’re a fickle flower. They dotted my back acre one summer, and then moved on to other hillsides in the years following.
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227 June 24th 2016 | bottlecap
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June 23rd 2016

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all
····that’s left of a summer’s day—the waning
········moon
·
·
The evening is thick with summer; long and longing trills sound from the nearby pond. The night sparkles through the black and heavy leaves of the birch, maple and oak. The air is suffused with the sweet oils of the spruce, white pine, and hemlocks. Every so often, the round yawl of an owl soaks the air.
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226 June 23rd 2016 | bottlecap
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June 21st 2016

—·
melting
····lollipop—an ant in the wrapper’s
········shade
·
·
Heat (or the Japanese word for the same) was a “season word” for summerand so—many summer haiku begin with the phrase: “the heat!” But even more striking is the coolness of summer:
·
in the morning dew
soiled and cooled—
dirt on the melon
·
  • Basho – Haiku: An Athology of Japanese Poems p. 50
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One my of my favorite haiku by Basho.
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224 June 21st 2016 | bottlecap
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June 19th 2016

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Sunday’s
····strawberries in a white, porcelain
········bowl
·
·
Shiki is considered the last of the four great poets of haiku. He famously developed a style of haiku called Shasei, the aim being “to depict as is”.  The aesthetic was a rebellion against the many techniques that had come to define haiku. As Jane Reichhold put it: “He favored the quiet simplicity of just stating what he saw without anything else having to happen in the ku. He found the greatest beauty in the common sight, simply said. And 99% of his haiku were written in his style.” Yet after writing so many Shasei, the artist in Shiki inevitably became restless, searching for yet a new way to express his ideas and vision.
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222 June 19th 2016 | bottlecap
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June 17th 2016

·
gusts
····carrying a peony’s petal—the truck
········trembles
·
·
The day before yesterday was a beautifully windy day in Vermont—clear skies and intermittent clouds. The trees, once more with leaves, bent and nattered with the burden. Seeing some of the late petals surrendered to the gusts, I was somehow reminded of Buson’s famous haiku:
·
a heavy cart
rumbles by—
peonies tremble
·
  • haiku mind | translated Patricia Donegan
 
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220 June 17th 2016 | bottlecap
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June 15th 2016

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secretly
····crossing the road—a mid-afternoon
········shower
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·
Less than a week left of spring and I feel just as I did at the end of winter, ready for new kigo (even if I’m making them up). Standing back of my wildflower garden, the stretch of yard I don’t’t mow, I could build my little Mozart Hütte. Wouldn’t take long. Basho, without family or attachments, wandered Japan’s narrow roads and took to cabins built for him by admiring students and patrons. That’s the life for a poet. Disciples. Adulation. Patrons.
·
sanding—
····the clapboards don’t care if I’m a great
········poet
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218 June 15th 2016 | bottlecap
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