Week 36-22 - Haibuno

5 September 2022

End of summer joy
BBQ all the veggies
meat sticks and sunshine

The summer's waning chill brings out long pants and hoodies. When the full moon is out you can see the front moving southward as clear as day. Lightning leaves a long tail of shiver in luminous saccades. We smile joyously, a celebration of good people doing their best work. The quiet returns in time to light the fire and welcome back the cozy. Minor irritations fizzle into an anesthetic ether. Remember to always interject a hint of humor in the already evocative.

6 September 2022

Creative output
just keep doing what I do
every single day

A slow germination of thought, clarity, and inspiration. Dream hangovers linger into mid-morning. Spare. Precise. Shovel up sage and pull imperfectly good plants that are done for the season. Sometimes you just have to step to the side and let others take their glory. Meanwhile you quietly live a life worth living without the fuss of hustle. The slow steady grind is a gyre in the sea of sometimes. Sometimes melancholy, sometimes fantastical, sometimes joyful, sometimes murky, always spinning and taking on floating garbage. Some of it will be buried, some will be repurposed, some will create something pioneering. The recognition is in the doing not the receiving.

7 September 2022

on some days it is easy,
others challenging

Somewhere in the recent past we started taking a step backward. We remain under the illusion of moving foward, only because time keeps tick-tocking. Backwards is trending exponentially. Where is the will, if will is even required?  We wait for the next notification beep, resigned to ambivalence or impercipience. The other knows better than I and communicates its imbalance. Tick-Tock. What would happen if time moved elliptically? We would assume an acceleration until reaching a point of deceleration back to the place we started. What if the stuckness became unglued and we all dreamed of going to outer space simultaneously. A spontaneous eruption of adventuring spirit. Some will never jump into such cheerful quintessence.

8 September 2022

Pulling tumbleweed
has altered spring time allure
to summer pokey

Breaking our backs for change. Our landscape hardscaped by a combative past etched in deep furrowed wrinkles. The benchmarks keep stealing bases. Comfort in the familiarity of complaint. Words stumble. The cloud bank thunders. A call to arms - unheeded. A silent drum beat slipping in between cracks in the walls. Messiness is hardly the worst critique leveled. No need to analyze it. Back to the beginning where we were only mired in excited anticipation. Last lost time waiting for no paradise.

9 September 2022

My fingers are crossed,
something to go easier,
or something to not

A hundred words related to predation. Man eat man, dog eat dog, hawk eat hawk, roiling, broiling a mouse lost behind the garbage can. Claws retracted for pleasure. Play time remains off limits. Strolling through the bunch grass to find coyote scat distributed non-randomly. The rabbits are hunched beneath. I ain't ready. Bird on the wire. Shark attack. Octopus wisely wrapping wrecked. Share our last breath. Death on the wing. Hovering hunting horrid hovels. Brothels stirring beds of malcontent with bugs that embed. Running across the ice pursued by a mass of flying glass with shadows of yellow and grunting.

10 September 2022

Put one thought forward
managing situation
addressing our needs

Would you call a wood uncut a creature of habit? The shuttle spins incessently in space with no foothold to grab onto. One day it will ram into a planet and be accused of racism. Broadly speaking from the broad shoulders of ageism. The Isms masticate on the febrile, nubile, and stabile. The pimpmobile circles the block, rolls down the drag, and pumps vigorously. Us verses them where no differences exist to differentiate thems. She took the trope and ran it into a brick wall. Boom. Just like that. Non-mobile.

11 September 2022

Inspiration brass
pumps the beat to heart and soul
joy vivacity

Mired in greenwashed nonsense. Wondering how to partake in something better that really is 'for the good' is my afternoon jam. The butterflies are alive in some yard somewhere. There is a spectacle of shit shoveled over the snow berm. Fly away little fairies into alight you go! Right there under the bridge the swallow song of otters frolicing. The garbage boat sails away and dumps its load unseen into the vast nothingness of everythingness. My soul hurts - sings sad songs to snowbirds. Fly away little fairies into the night so slow! The slow sprawl of her facial expressions send reverberations though the nethers. The region of 'down there' speaks in tongues. It lies in limbo slightly akimbo. Fly away little fairies fly away, into the sky aglow!

Subscribe to Of Wonder and Wander

Sign up now to get access to the library of members-only issues.
Jamie Larson