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    Mikiesboy
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The content presented here is for informational or educational purposes only. These are just the authors' personal opinions and knowledge.
Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are based on the authors' lives and experiences and may be changed to protect personal information. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

tim's Bits and Pieces - 4. Concrete and Fantasy

This is a haibun ... a mix of prose and poetry. Such a wonderful form because of the freedom it offers.

I long for the natural world, sitting on my porch at daybreak, coffee in hand, notebook and sharp pencil ready. Instead, I am herded onto buses, packed with others like me. I am going to work with hundreds of others, inside an artificial environment. I look out windows of sealed glass, and watch clouds blown across the sky by winds I cannot feel.

 

Air is pumped in
lungs do not care
body is fueled
but the soul wants
rain on my face


 

With longing I gaze at pictures of mountains and rivers. The photographer had walked, lives there, and can be there as and when he desires. Here I must make do with parks, mournful postage stamps of grass and two trees.

 

Somewhere fresh, somewhere real, somewhere lit by the sun

A place where mountains prop up the sky, and tumbling rivers rage

Where the wind flattens summer grasses and electric-green grasshoppers jump

And I can find protection tucked against the rough living bark of a tall tree

Longing for fresh air saddens me, and I feel let down and grasping for what I will never have

 

 

On Sunday it is quiet when I dismount the bus. This is my reality. Orange construction barrels block the way. The old sidewalks are now compromised as massive wooden hydro poles have been planted in their centres. Why? We have not been told, but it is, I feel, just the beginning. Soon more land will be ripped up and re-paved. I tire of the noise; there is no peace, no quiet anywhere in my world.

 

Machines tear up the earth and bury cement pipes
causing desks to shake and rattle
Fellow workers talk and laugh, while they drink coffee
Bosses look at stats, percentages, walk like guards asking
'Are we caught up yet?'
I am only a two-legged fancy rat
Running quickly nowhere but the to the end, and regret
Living graceless lives, where dinner is what we speak of most

 

 

This Sunday feels no different. I grumble because I must walk on the road since they have dug up my usual path down the side of the huge warehouse of an office, where I work. I trudge onward to do my duty. Yet … something is different today, within me. Spring has come to my concrete world; strips of grass are green, little trees struggle on, between the road and a building. That is where I see it, in the branch of a small nursery grown tree; it's tag still on. Someone, with imagination, with optimism, with a lightness of being, has picked you up and sat you there. Left you clinging to your branch, to bring a smile to my soul.

 

You are a creature of fantasy, small and winged
Left on a branch, looking outward, ready to fly
—a perfect tiny horse, with wings—
I stop and smile, asking who and why?
Answers matter not; all that does is you are there
There. When you could be in a pocket, on a desk
kicked into the road
but it was hope, inner joy, whimsy and love that raised you
and you become my obsession, my castle-in-the-air.

To think of you is to smile
to cherish
to believe.

 

I think about the coming Sunday, and I wonder if you will still be there?

 

_____

Thank you for reading. You comments are welcomed with open arms!  :)
Copyright © 2018 Mikiesboy; All Rights Reserved.
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The content presented here is for informational or educational purposes only. These are just the authors' personal opinions and knowledge.
Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are based on the authors' lives and experiences and may be changed to protect personal information. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

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This is captivating, giving me a chance to see you and the spring together. But then, you add to the wonder with Pegasus on a sapling branch, and the greening of life becomes enchanting. Thank you for your reflections and keen sight. You have brought me some true spring. 

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This is an interesting type of poetry. I haven't heard of it. You have created some interesting visuals in this collection of poems. I would be curious to know the rules/directions for writing this type of poem. Thanks.

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4 hours ago, JeffreyL said:

This is an interesting type of poetry. I haven't heard of it. You have created some interesting visuals in this collection of poems. I would be curious to know the rules/directions for writing this type of poem. Thanks.

It's a very interesting type, you should read @AC Benus Haibun for Pride ..

You can read more about it, but AC is likely the best one to ask.  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haibun

 

I've another of these as well:

 

https://www.gayauthors.org/story/mikiesboy/timmysjournal/55

 

Edited by Mikiesboy
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I REALLY liked the last two stanzas of this piece. A halibun seems difficult in and of itself, but you did this piece in a way where you could create poetry of everyday life, like work, and speak of the disruption that construction (or reconstruction) tends to create. Nicely wrote ;).

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30 minutes ago, BDANR said:

I REALLY liked the last two stanzas of this piece. A halibun seems difficult in and of itself, but you did this piece in a way where you could create poetry of everyday life, like work, and speak of the disruption that construction (or reconstruction) tends to create. Nicely wrote ;).

You can use this for everyday life.. it's a wonderful form. Thanks for reading it., and of last Sunday at least, the pony was still astride his branch. :)

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You walk in the world with open eyes and therefore you see things; this is one of, if not the most important feature in a human being, which doesn't mean it's easy.

Thank you for letting us take part in your walk, and also for sharing this wonderful poetic form which obviously suits you perfectly.

 

Edited by Zenobia
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1 minute ago, Zenobia said:

You walk in the world with open eyes and therefore you see things; this is one of, if not the most important feature in a human being, which doesn't mean it's easy.

Thank you for letting us take part in your walk, and also for sharing this wonderful poetic form which obviously suits you perfectly 🙂

 

Thank you for the willingness to join me... xoxo

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tim I love this slice of your daily life. You have so many small tidbits of things everyone sees. I love the postage stamp line. Most people only see the world thru a photo never ever getting to see those sights in real life. The sad thing people are taking over those areas and before long our world will be those orange barrels alway under construction and as we build we loose those small green areas. Thank you for this great poem

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