• Alexis Rotella is a regular contributor of haiga to Ink Sweat & Tears
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Saturday, July 19
It's Saturday – time for another haiga
by
Charles Christian
on Sat 19 Jul 2008 04:38 PM BST
• Alexis Rotella is a regular contributor of haiga to Ink Sweat & Tears Saturday, July 12
New haiga by Alexis Rotella
by
Charles Christian
on Sat 12 Jul 2008 06:36 PM BST
 • Alexis Rotella lives in the US and is a regular contributor of haiga to Ink, Sweat & Tears Thursday, July 3
Padrika's staying in to watch TV tonight
by
Charles Christian
on Thu 03 Jul 2008 10:32 AM BST
Tanka for a Thursday night
the television jams the corners of my room with tiny, scared ghosts. They crowd the dark with questions and flickering, fearful smiles. • Padrika Tarrant is a regular contributor to IS&T – her latest collection of short fiction – Broken Things – has been long-listed for the Frank O'Connor prize for short fiction. Sunday, June 22
Thursday, May 29
Short fiction/haibun by Ken Head
by
Charles Christian
on Thu 29 May 2008 06:53 PM BST
Man With Bread
The face of labour on the street Some days, bread warm from the oven makes it easier to forget I’ve nothing else to eat. But not today. Not after being told to wait while the baker’s wife helped those women in expensive coats who were in a hurry to choose pastries for their tea, as if making a fuss is the same as working hard. I could feel them looking down their noses at my boots and overalls, noticing how dirty they were, which is true this close to the weekend. Probably reckoned I smell bad, too. I could tell from their faces they were asking themselves how someone like me has the brass neck to use the same bakery they do and wondering if they should haggle a discount or threaten to take their custom somewhere else. When I see myself the way people like them see me, grubby from work and needing the shave I can’t have before I go on shift because there’s no hot water till the fire’s alight and I leave home too early for that, it rubs in how hard it is for people who don’t have money to keep their self-respect. It’s every day and all of life This’ll sound ridiculous, it does to me really, but what hurt most wasn’t queue-jumpers making me wait – I know how hard the baker and his missus work, how they need their better-off customers more than the likes of me – it was seeing those women stare at the safety pin I use when it’s cold to keep my jacket closed where there isn’t a button. People like that, they can’t imagine not having the proper clothes for every kind of weather. How did I deal with it? The best way I could. I had enough money for a bread roll, so I jingled the coins as if I had a pocketful while they stood pointing like greedy kids at what they’d decided to buy and I looked straight through them. Not much else I could do, was there? No point mouthing off, it would’ve ended up turning nasty. Anyway, my break’s only half an hour and working outside all day, I needed a piss more than a row, so I let it go. You have to, don’t you? You just have to. People become what they become • Ken Head's poetry weblog is at www.listeningforlight.blogspot.com and he'll appreciate your dropping in to browse and maybe leave a comment if you're passing. Sunday, May 25
Wednesday, May 14
New haibun by Tish Davis
by
Charles Christian
on Wed 14 May 2008 03:53 PM BST
Brother of the Sea
Lake Erie – blue water and sky become one. I sit in the sand not far from the place along the channel where my father and I used to fish. The beach is smaller now, cluttered with garbage cans and signs. The driftwood too, scattered along the edge, entangled with leaves and plastic bottles. The gulls return again and again to the edge of the pier as they did when we cast our lines. My father would tell the same story every time I was bored. The Iroquois, a confederation of five nations – Seneca, Cayuga, Onodaga, Oneida, Mohawk – defeat the Eries… I remember our bobbers rocking back and forth in these waters – the only legacy that bears their name. receding tide another feather stranded • Tish Davis lives and writes in Ohio and is a regular contributor to IS&T Friday, May 2
A haibun for the holiday weekend
by
Charles Christian
on Fri 02 May 2008 01:16 PM BST
Spring is in the air, there is a holiday weekend in the UK and it's time to relax – so here is a new haibun by regular IS&T contributor Mike Montreuil...
WEEKDAY PICNIC Its one of those picture perfect days. You arrive with your girlfriend and easily find a parking spot away from the sun. You smile at each other, as a chickadee announces his claim to a place he will not share with another, and laugh when a sparrow decides to fly through. mid-day sun – slowly eaten sandwiches harden in the heat A light breeze blows her hair onto her cheek. You attempt to calmly place the strands behind her ear, but the urge to nibble her lobe takes over. She smiles again and takes your hand. Warmth radiates from hers to yours. Everything is perfect. The world is at peace. a jet takes off towards the north – a warm silence broken Lunch over, you take her hand once more and begin the walk you have promised each other. Trees are in bloom and a multitude of flowers hang from their branches. Life has begun in this city park. Even the crows have begun their nest building. along the path an open condom pack our stifled laughs This afternoon will not end, you tell each other. But the increase in automobile traffic tells you otherwise. Soon, the realities of family life will take over and the day will turn to dinner and the homework that needs to be done. rush hour traffic – an eighteen-wheeler blocks the way home Sunday, April 27
Saturday, April 19
New haiga by Maggie West
by
Charles Christian
on Sat 19 Apr 2008 10:13 AM BST
 • Maggie West says "After I had been writing short poems for some years, I discovered haiku while studying formal western-style calligraphy. In 1992, I became a member of The British Haiku Society and was thereby introduced to other forms of Japanese poetry. Working mainly with inks and other water-based media, I have always enjoyed 'mark making'; transforming the tactile working surface using many types of brushes, pens, quills and sticks as necessary. I try to make my handwriting on the haiga as legible as possible without being formal. As I come from a 'western art' background, my work is not traditional in the Japanese sense; however, I try to be true to the spirit of haiga." For more information visit Maggie's website at www.maggieonthebeach.co.uk Saturday, March 29
Saturday, March 15
New haiga by Alexis Rotella
by
Charles Christian
on Sat 15 Mar 2008 01:40 PM GMT
 • Alexis Rotella is a regular contributor to IS&T. This photo was taken during her recent trip to Japan. Wednesday, March 5
New haibun by Tish Davis
by
Charles Christian
on Wed 05 Mar 2008 07:56 AM GMT
Champagne Music
I slip the Lawrence Welk CD into the station and whisper, "Mom, our first sleep over." Black and whites change with the notes on his accordion, shadows across toes exposed at the bottom of the bed. The nurse now finished returns the blanket, formalities charted under the watchful eye of the Franciscan cross hanging on the wall. An aide helps me move the recliner closer. A pajama party – I remembered to bring my own pillow. light and bubbly a respirator breathes for both of us • Tish Davis lives and writes in Oho and is a regular contributor to IS&T Sunday, March 2
New haiga
by
Charles Christian
on Sun 02 Mar 2008 09:01 PM GMT
 This haiga is a collaboration between Angelee Deodhar in India and regular IS&T contributor Pamela A. Babusci who composed the haiku. Sunday, February 10
Two haibun by John Irvine
by
Charles Christian
on Sun 10 Feb 2008 11:41 AM GMT
Sheep or donkey?
Sitting here at my PC at 5:48am, the sun yet to roll over the eastern hills, composing an obsequious email to the editor of some obscure online poetry magazine. Editors can be pernickety buggers given to flamboyant rejections, so pandering to their egos is essential. Well, if you want to be published in their crummy magazines it is. Few offer payment, assuming that the privilege of appearing on their hallowed web page for a month is sufficient recompense for any poet. The rhetoric congeals in my mind’s throat so I pause, gazing out my second story window across dawn-lit paddocks. I reconsider my submission, wondering if a three-line publication is worth prostituting myself to some faceless wannabe. decisions to make – over the back fence the old donkey brays Thorny business Heritage climbing roses adorn our deck. Pink and white, they attract thousands of bees. Heaven on a long stem. A couple of over-grown shoots offend my eye, so I fetch the secateurs to lop them. Two down, one more out there... I miss the top step and begin a short journey to the concrete paving. Half over the top railing I fling an arm around a bunch of rose stems, hug them to my chest. The thorns bite into my hand and bare arm, I teeter a moment, stop. A thousand nervous bees circle my head. on the thorns of a dilemma – all that bites is not necessarily your enemy • John Irvine writes... "John Irvine is an Old Aged Pensioner in New Zealand with delusions of immortal failure and a cynical view of life. He has a mole under his left arm, and a wife who hates pizza and tripe. He hopes to die painlessly one day without warning, and with a minimum of leakage. "He had a volume of poetry published in 2005 by Zenith Publishing Group – www.zenithpublishing.co.nz – of New Zealand called Man of Stone. It has been positively reviewed in NZ's Takahe magazine by Raewyn Alexander, in Valley Micropress by Tony Chad and given a thorough pizzling by Sam Smith of The Journal in the UK. John's pathetically grateful for all of that. He also has a web site where you can waste some time www.cooldragon.co.nz "He has been published in a number of print and online magazines, including Australian Reader, Wicked Karnival, Black Ink Horror, Illuminations, Sam Smith’s Select Six, Whispers of Wickedness, Scifaiku, Stylus, the NZ Poetry Society's 2006 haiku anthology and NZ’s own Magazine. And now he may be read in that truly amazing, splendiferous, astounding, heroic online magazine Noneuclidean Café. "Oh, yes... and Preshrunk Press has published a volume of meaningless poetry (by me) about rats some time in 2007, which has been cleverly illustrated by Australian self-confessed teabag squeezing genius Dave Freeman." Thursday, January 31
Two new pieces - one prose & one haibun - by Ken Head
by
Charles Christian
on Thu 31 Jan 2008 08:21 AM GMT
Keeping Company With Time
Staring out of the photograph is the face of a ninety-one-year-old former railway worker who’s spent three decades caring for a clock. Not the family-heirloom, wedding-present kind that ticked away in pride of place on mantelpieces long before the world went digital, but the massive, ten-foot, monster of a dial with gold-leaf ornamentation, cast-iron hands and Roman numbers cut from best Welsh slate that hung for a hundred years in St. Pancras station. Immaculate against the gable-end of a barn, his clock dwarfs the man whose skills brought it back from the dead, but who stands stony-eyed, grim-faced, not looking at his masterwork, amid the tangle of bramble that long ago buried his garden. Behind him, paint on a row of stable doors has flaked to exhausted grey. Creeper chokes the roof, lassoes loose tiles, its tendrils worming through space-time towards the region of two o’clock. When Even The Sundials Have Crumbled To Dust Oceans of lost lives pebbles along the shoreline one or two we keep Almost no one comes here these days, just beach bums and refugees holed up behind the dunes in hopes of staying forgotten. Met some religious folk once, from a colony down the coast where the sea’s already turned to dust, a hard place, let me tell you, to wait for your new messiah to appear with a second shot at paradise. Hot as hell and no water. Ran into a couple of sun-crazed poets, too, before my eyes began to fail. Lookin’ for inspiration in the music of the dunes, they said. But that was a while ago and they haven’t been around again or I’d ’ve spotted their tracks. In daylight anyway. At night you wouldn’t believe the dark since the towns along the coast were all switched off. Even the engineers who’ve survived don’t make the trip any more. Why bother to maintain expensive plant when nobody uses it? Like I say, the place is pretty much dead, has been since before the tour buses gave up trying to keep it alive. No diesel, I guess, leastways, not for pleasure. A tough drive, too, with the roads so broken up or buried under sand. All the old resorts are ghost towns now, almost nowhere left with water in its tanks or a drop of fuel to drive the gennies. I’ve been lucky so far, though, stayed comfortable, kept myself out of the way of the army gunships that come lookin’. It’s easy if you listen for the rotors … like Vietnam. I moved to a higher floor a while ago to stay above the sand. Not that it matters. Don’t think much about problems, damage to my eyes and skin. Makes more sense not to. Sun’s warm all year, there’s peace and quiet to ease me through however many days’re left and watching sunset shadow the world to sleep is always special. We come and we go must it always be so ask the universe • Ken Head lives in Cambridge, England. He was an invited reader, alongside Pascale Petit and Mimi Khalvati, at the London Poetry School’s 2007 fund-raiser. Sunday, January 13
New haiga by Maggie West
by
Charles Christian
on Sun 13 Jan 2008 01:18 PM GMT
 • Maggie West says "After I had been writing short poems for some years, I discovered haiku while studying formal western-style calligraphy. In 1992, I became a member of The British Haiku Society and was thereby introduced to other forms of Japanese poetry. I much prefer the brevity and simplicity of the Japanese style. I feel they have much to teach us, from the subtle, non-judgmental haiku, wit of senryu, heartfelt emotion of the tanka, to the collaborative aspects of renga poetry. Many of these short poems have a greater depth than first perceived. Ancient Japanese poems, speak intimately and effortlessly to us across space, time and language barriers. After reading these, other types of poetry seem lacking in many ways. "Working mainly with inks and other water-based media, I have always enjoyed 'mark making'; transforming the tactile working surface using many types of brushes, pens, quills and sticks as necessary. I try to make my handwriting on the haiga as legible as possible without being formal. As I come from a 'western art' background, my work is not traditional in the Japanese sense; however, I try to be true to the spirit of haiga." For more information visit Maggie's website at www.maggieonthebeach.co.uk Sunday, December 30
New haiga by Pamela Babusci
by
Charles Christian
on Sun 30 Dec 2007 09:59 AM GMT
Friday, December 28
New haibun by Mike Montreuil
by
Charles Christian
on Fri 28 Dec 2007 05:21 PM GMT
2 AM
I can hear the furnace pushing air at its lowest speed. The four clocks on the main floor are keeping time at different rates and their beats become louder then softer, as I try in vain to relax with a late night movie. A car with a missing muffler passes down our street. I know I will not be the only one to hear it. Under a street lamp a moth circles – the endless night • Mike Montreuil lives in Ottawa (Canada) and can be found at a hockey rink cheering on his son. Monday, December 24
A Christmas Collection from IS&T
by
Charles Christian
on Mon 24 Dec 2007 11:20 AM GMT
We'd like to wish all our readers – all 3500 of you – a Happy Christmas and here are some seasonal offerings by Tish Davis, Maureen Weldon and Chris Major...
Two haiku by Tish Davis virgin snow a young boy runs ahead to warn the rabbit *** these woods again a leaf frozen in the spider web • Tish Davis lives and works in the US. Her haibun have appeared in Contemporary Haibun Online. Recently one of her haiku was recognized as a Poem of Merit in the R.H. Blyth Awards for 2007. Like Soap Bubbles by Maureen Weldon Winter: like soap bubbles in a washing-up bowl. This will not last, this cup, that plate, the garden reflecting in my eye. Or my lover – he used to hold my heart – who has a golden tongue – a gift for music. I brushed his body with my long red hair. It was Christmas then, it is Christmas now : green crates of decorations, bottles of wine, flickering candles. I see them on my kitchen window, mirrored in fairy lights and parcels of secrets. From the hall, three little boys Are singing Silent Night, to the rhythm of their money-box. Now my daughter shuts the door the sound goes round and round. In the sink the suds have sunk, In the centre: a star. To poems – one concrete – by Chris Major PROTEST POEM Every Christmas it's the same: given without much thought, the perfect choice for a festive season. Oh, there should be stickers everywhere, for they are not just for Christmas; because the novelty soon wears thin, and abandoned, pushed aside they are cruelly left, good only to blame odd farts on.......... ..........bloody sprouts. SOMEWHERE (footprints) soon her step will fill: flowers 'n' cards as guilty neighbours churn to snowy slush a blank white page of garden path. Too little then, and too late, all print that is this poem's shape. • Chris Major is a regular IS&T contributor |
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