Murmuration

Leaf 225 – Looking Back

 

C.F. Tunnicliffe - Starlings and Magpies (What to Look for in Winter, 1959)

This poem captures a late, autumnal memory of home. Sometimes it feels so far away, but birds – such as starlings – make similar journeys too, and always with the promise of a return at some point in the cycles of life and all its ever-changing seasons.

 

 

Shoals of starlings swim

– last lights

of a lost day.

 

The ISS

Leaf 224 – Reflections

The International Space Station, or "ISS" (2010) NASA/Crew of STS-132

 

This is a poem about the International Space Station, or “the ISS” as it is often called (note the acronym is hidden in the poem’s second line). It’s always fascinating to track the space station and to see it zipping by overhead, orbiting through the night sky. It moves remarkably fast. I used to have a radio scanner which was capable of tuning into its broadcasts. Often all you would hear were the ‘packet signals’ of digital data which it sends and receives from various ground stations, which sound a lot like old dial-up internet modems used to; but every now and then – especially when the ISS was communicating with schools via ham radio – you might hear the voices of the astronauts on board, which was quite a thrill.

 

I always find it astounding to see and think about this tiny, technological island of humanity which has been up there, continuously inhabited since 2nd November 2000, circling the Earth once every 93 minutes. It’s inspiring as well to think about such a remote scientific research outpost sailing along the outer edge of our planet’s atmosphere, and the global-international cooperative effort which keeps it afloat.

 

 

Passing overhead

in swift silence – a tiny life raft

crossing the river of heaven.

 

 

 

 

This poem was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #haikufeels writing prompt: 'raft.'

Our Boomerang

Leaf 223 – Looking Back

 

S.R. Badmin - Sallow and Blackthorn (Ladybird Book of Trees, 1963)

This is a memory of summers spent in the countryside when I was a kid.

 

 

A week later,

finding our boomerang

– lost in the tall grass.

 

  

 

This poem was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #dailyhaikuprompt: 'tall grass.'

The Pheasant

Leaf 222 – Senryu (or witty, tom-foolery)

 

S.R. Badmin - Winter Pastoral

There’s something about this little poem which always reminds me of Mervyn Peake’s Gormenghast (1950).

 

 

The pheasant,

flapping his wings

– like a schoolmaster in his gown.

Autumn Leaves

Leaf 221 – Reflections

 

Fukuda Heihachiro - Autumn Leaves (1943)

Autumn seems to be a season with its own animus/anima.

 

 

Leaves following

the autumn breeze

– but only so far.

***

The autumn-themed ‘renku’/‘renga’ (or linked verse collaboration) below was written with ‪fellow poet, Rachel Armes-McLaughlin, reflecting upon a photograph she took while on a recent autumnal walk:

the cold, keen wind 

cannot keep the leaves

it dispenses 

just as it cannot

keep this dark season 

savouring autumn’s chill

sunlight glints off 

bright polished shoes – 

auburn leaves underfoot

‪Autumn Light & Leaves, by Rachel Armes-McLaughlin

 

***

 

This final autumn leaves themed haiku is perhaps one of my most Issa-esque ...

Raking leaves – 

the wind wants 

to play too.

The first poem was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #dailyhaikuprompt: 'breeze.' And the second, written with Rachel Armes-McLaughlin, was also originally posted on Bluesky. Many thanks to Rachel for very kindly permitting me to reproduce her work here. The third and final haiku was likewise also originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #dailyhaikuprompt: 'rake.'

Driftwood

Leaf 220 – Reflections

 

Whether near or far – wherever we start, we all end up somewhere, eventually.

 

 

Coming to rest

on an eastern shore

– driftwood’s long journey.

 

 

Photograph credit: PublicDomainPictures

The Sandbar

Leaf 219 – Looking Back

 

Tim Chamberlain - The Sandbar (1999)

This is another poem, or rather a linked set of twinned haiku, about Cornwall – where I spent all my childhood summers (see, Leaf 2 and Leaf 6).

 

 

Wading out to the sandbar

– salty tang of sun-seared

gorse and granite.

 

Footprints in the sand,

forever unerased

– holiday snapshot.

 

 

 

Charles Naper - Nanjizal, towards Porthcurno

These poems were originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #blueskyrelay writing prompt: 'sand', and a #thepenflows writing prompt: 'footprints in the sand.'

A Blur

Leaf 218 – Reflections

 

The first time I saw one of these remarkable creatures, I found I could hardly focus my eyes on it. Its wings were moving so fast, and it was darting about so quickly, it was hard to make sense of what I was seeing. So very small, I wondered if it really was a hummingbird? – But that seemed impossible – There are no hummingbirds in Japan! – In the end, I used my digital camera to take a photograph and see just what this creature was, captured in freeze-frame.

 

 

A blur buzzing about the bush,

azalea-to-azalea-to-azalea

– hummingbird hawkmoth.

 

 

 

 

This haiku was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #dailyhaikuprompt 'moth.'

Photographs by Tim Chamberlain (2006)

Old Maps

Leaf 217 – Reflections

 

John Carey's Map of Harrow (1786)

History has always fascinated me. Along with my university studies, I spent many years working in museums and on archaeological digs. Long before that though, when I was very young, we did a school project on the architectural history of “our village,” where I grew up (a village which had long before been swallowed up by suburban London). And ever since that time, I’ve always busied myself with little side projects of this kind. Forever burying myself in books, maps and old photographs. But researching my family tree was probably one of the most fascinating of them all.

 

 

Poring over old maps,

unfolding layers of

history and home.

 

 

 

 

John Cowley's Improved Map of Middlesex (c.1740s)

This haiku was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #haikufeels writing prompt: 'pore.'

Palace Pond

Leaf 216 – Senryu (or witty, tom-foolery)

 

Another poem about the Alhambra in Granada, Spain (see Leaf 119) – and a thought which struck me while wandering about the gardens when my eye was caught by a very princely-looking frog in one of the ornamental ponds …

 

 

His serene highness

– a frog at home

in the empty palace pond.

 

Photographs by Tim Chamberlain

Waking Up

Leaf 215 – Looking Back

 

Kasamatsu Shiro - Onion Flowers (1958)

This is a poem about a kitten who came to live with us, briefly, while I was a first-year student at university, living in a shared house in East London. I’d fallen asleep on the sofa one afternoon or evening, and this memory has stayed with me ever since.

 

 

Waking up –

a kitten warmly snuggled

in the crook of my neck.

 

 

Dried Cherry Stones

Leaf 214 – Looking Back

Kaii Higashiyama - Morning (1975)

 

At the end of my street, where I grew up, there was a neat row of cherry trees growing along the grass verge, overhanging the pavement.

 

 

Dried cherry stones

cracking underfoot

– late summer sun.

 

 

 

Chatter of Pebbles

Leaf 213 – Reflections

 

The sound of the sea is an enchantment, akin to the sound of the breeze filtering through trees.

 

 

Waves in profusion

hurling white surf

and salt spray.

 

Chatter of pebbles

rolling and receding

– a desolate beach.

 

 

 

These two poems/linked verse were originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #dailyhaikuprompt: 'profuse & desolate.' Photograph by Tim Chamberlain, c.1999.

Together

Leaf 212 – Reflections

 

Dmitry Levin - Winter River (2015)

A series of linked verse, marking the slow passage of time.

 

 

TOGETHER

 

Autumn chill

slips quietly into

winter’s gloom.

 

Low hum –

electric heater,

slowly

turning and

returning.

 

The room

where we work

without words.

 

The gentle slap

of pages turned,

papers shuffled,

pens picked up

and put down.

 

All the hours

unspoken –

we spend together:

 

Winter’s gloom

looms long –

silvered and grey,

beyond the windows

the leafless trees.

 

The white glow

of sunless days –

warmed within.

 

 

Dmitry Levin - Snow Thaws (2010)

 

Last Autumn

Leaf 211 – Art Inspired

 

Shufu Miyamoto - Late Autumn

This is an #artinspired poem, a sequence of linked verse. I wrote these lines after seeing a print by Shufu Miyamoto, titled: ‘Late Autumn.’ This artwork reminded me of a trip to the upper reaches of the Tama River, to the west of Tokyo last year (see, Leaf 40).

 

 

This time last year,

together ascending

the Tama River.

 

Maple leaves aglow -

woodsmoke and

rushing water.

 

Russet, yellow, brown

and green leaves -

burnishing the mountains.

 

 

 

This linked verse sequence was written and originally posted on Bluesky.

Silent Focus

Leaf 210 – Looking Back

 

This poem attempts to evoke all the many late nights during the long winter months over the years which I spent studying in libraries …

 

 

Silent focus,

peering into a pool of light

– ink-black windowpanes.

This haiku was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a haiku written by Thomas L. Vaultonburg.

Image credit: Seven (1995) IMDb

Global Hypercolor

Leaf 209 – Looking Back

 

In the early 1990s, when Grunge and Indie music – with American bands such as Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and Rage Against the Machine – were at the peak of their transatlantic popularity, singing songs which became anthems for disgruntled teenage angst, it seemed like every kid in the UK had a “Global Hypercolor” t-shirt. These were pale blue t-shirts which had been treated with a dye that reacted to changes in the wearer’s body temperature, progressively turning to darker shades of blue, mauve and purple. After a few spins in the washing machine though, they seemed to lose this miraculous magical power and eventually became just another slightly faded, brand label t-shirt – much like any other t-shirt, except a lot more expensive. I never succumbed to this fad myself. I’m not sure why. Probably because seemingly everyone had one. Likewise, “Fat Willy’s” t-shirts were popular at this time too. But I never was much of a ‘dedicated follower of fashion,’ as the Kinks would say; although I did have quite a spectacular tie-dyed t-shirt, of which I was very proud. 

Consequently, the following senryu probably won’t mean much to anyone who didn’t come of age in the ‘90s as part of what’s often referred to as “Generation X.”

 

 

All the rage,

so long ago –

faded global hypercolor.

 

Hanami

Leaf 208 – Garden Poems

 

Yoshimoto Gesso - Cherry Trees above the Water (c.1930s)

花見 ‘Hanami’ is literally the Japanese word for ‘flower viewing’ (花 hana = flower; 見 mi  = looking, viewing), or more commonly it is used to describe the very popular custom of people gathering in large groups and picnicking under cherry blossoms in the spring.

 

 

Benches arranged

for hanami – empty

except for one.

 

 

Utagawa Hiroshige - Cherry Blossoms
on the Banks of the Tama River (1857)

Duckweed

Leaf 207 – Reflections

 

This poem was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #haikufeels writing prompt to write a haiku incorporating the word: flip. The accompanying photographs were taken by me in “Constable Country,” at Flatford Mill in 2022.

 

 

Duck tail flips back

– head glistens wetly,

dotted with duckweed.

 

 

 

Photographs by Tim Chamberlain (2022)

Poppy Petals

Leaf 206 – Remembrance

 

Dmitry Levin - Forest Poppies

There’s something intensely poignant in the forlorn fragility, but also the sheer tenacity and profound resilience, of the poppy which is very moving. See also, Leaf 118 and Leaf 204.

 

 

Poppy petals

bruised

by the rain.

 

 

 

 This poem was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a writing prompt by Wales Haiku Journal: 'poppy/poppies.'

Busy Bee

Leaf 205 – Reflections

 

A haiku hymning and humming about honey bees abuzz in their hive.

 

 

Busy busy bee

– sending word, via a

well-waggled dance.

Photograph credit: Pexels/Pixabay

Remembrance Sunday

Leaf 204 – Remembrance

 

Pinner War Memorial (David Ayling-IWM)

In the early 1990s, when I was a teenager, I was a bell ringer at my local Parish Church. As the youngest of the ringers (most of whom were several decades senior to me), I was usually sent up into the bell chamber to fix the muffles on the bells for Remembrance Sunday. It was always so cold, even in the ringing chamber, during the winter months. Sometimes frost would form on the sallies of the bell ropes. But somehow, to my mind at least, the weather at that time of year seemed appropriate for such a solemn ceremony of commemoration.

 

 

Numbed fingers

ringing the bells

– Remembrance Sunday.

 

 

 

Pinner War Memorial (Brian Chapman-IWM)

 

In Her Clutch

Leaf 202 – Senryu (or witty, tom-foolery)

 

This short, but sweet, Raymond Chandler-esque poem is an attempt to distil a film noir-ish feel into a short haiku. In some ways, it might perhaps be read as a prequal to Leaf 201.

 

 

In her clutch –

a small silver pistol

with a single bullet.

 

 

 

Pitfall (1948)

 

This senryu was written and first posted on Bluesky in response to a #haikufeels writing prompt: 'clutch.'

Click on images to view their source.

New Morning

Leaf 202 – Reflections

 

Fan Ho - Approaching Shadow (1954)

This poem was originally written for a haiku contest, which I didn’t win.

 

 

A new morning –

without her

widow’s weeds.

 

  

 

Saturn's Rings

Leaf 201 – Reflections

 

Earth seen from Saturn (2017) NASA JPL-CALTECH SSCI

Continuing the theme from Leaf 199, meditating on how we choose to perceive the different scales of time which surround us.

 

 

Inking a wolf’s hair brush –

drawing the emptiness

into Saturn’s rings.

 

 

 

This poem was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #haikufeels writing prompt: ring. 

Photograph credits/source: NASA/GeoNews & NeedPix

Bright Sparkles

Leaf 200 – Reflections

 

Kawase Hasui - Fireworks on the Sumida (c.1930s)

The 5th November in the UK is known as “bonfire night,” and it is the time of year for large public firework displays. Consequently, ever since I was a child, fireworks have always been associated in my mind with the start of winter. Whereas in Japan, ‘Hanabi’ (花火) firework displays are often associated with summer. But whichever season they are staged in, naturally enough, the response and reactions are universally the same.

 

 

Bright sparkles burst –

and ripple out

into soft “Ahhhs.”

 

 

 

Eiichi Kotozuka - Fireworks at Kyoto's Kamo River (c.1950s)