TRANSITIONS

A haibun on change and transitions for Dverse poets

It was a gypsy life in the Air Force – home was always wherever we hung our hats.  We got used to hanging new curtains, digging new gardens, meeting new neighbours, and the children survived a succession of schools and friendships.  They grew up and left home, and still we travelled on, just on our own this time.

Then for a while we put down roots in a wild and lovely place, built a barn, built a life and a church.  So many good friends, none of them rich or even very famous, all of them special.  The gifted years, treasure beyond treasure stored up as memories.  Until we got older, and the children were too far away, and the distances too great.

This time the wrench of leaving was something we felt, like a tree being pulled from good earth.  Pieces of our hearts left behind among the mountains and sea-spray.  A different transition.

you and I
always moving on
together

HE IS…

HE IS NOT

God is not dead,
nor does he cause
the trials and losses
of this life.
He does not stand aside
at the time of suffering,
but enters in
with us.

He is not the froth
of waves thundering
after the storm.
He cannot be controlled
by ritual or demands,
nor does he gloat
over the hurt
of sinners.

He is not in the spilt blood
of our children
or the thunder of bombs,
falling.
God cannot be defined
by our desires,
nor is he in the burning slag
of hatred and greed.

God is…

© Maureen Sudlow

For the DVerse poets them ‘via negativa’

SOAKED!

This is a haibun for Dverse Poets – today the theme is water…

I stand on the corner, waiting for the bus, rain or shine.  Today it has been raining all night and I have to skip around the puddles as I cross the road.  The trucks rumble past, wipers flashing, and hissing of tires as they go.  Without warning, one takes a sudden swerve towards the kerb where a large pool of water has gathered.  Suddenly I am inundated, soaked from head to toe.  The driver flashes me a triumphant smile before I squelch back home to change…

truckers
always a joker
in the pack

Photo by Wayne Ray – Own work, Public Domain, Wikimedia

CORNY

A response to D’verse poets to write something that ignores the rules of grammar – so freeing…

out leaving full stops
over easy but commonly needing
mixed metaphors on
a coloured background
gives words summer sun
and mills winds
on blown hills
there rabbits run fastly
in blue ocean deep
and sucked in wind
where climbing is steep
so grows the corn

(Van Gogh’s View From the Wheat field)