arrhythmia the unraveling of the republic

Mariposa, 37, Autumn/Winter, 2017
re published in old song: The Red Moon Anthology of English-Language Haiku 2017

buddha taking
a break from humanity
reborn as a fawn

giving you my all birth defect

rough waves again my swelling fear

in the heat haze of a southern gas station coffee

late summer leaves
start to lose their green
this longing
to shave my head
and start life anew

in line
to view the body
cottonwood fluff
outside the church door
swirled by the wind

grandma’s quilt
all the worn holes
in autumn leaves

morning chill
the door’s squeak played
by the breeze

midday sun
a pond turtle breaks
the surface

old fishing pond
the steady bite
of horseflies

blackbird lilac forgive my confusion

half-moon half-no-moon raspberry blossoms

noon whistle          this is not my life

my winter family
stink bugs
in the rafters

this snow or the last?
my father forgets
my name

my hair half white
not even thick enough
for a louse

why don’t pigeons
perch in trees? 
bitter rain

cooking dinner
daughter turning
into her mother

sleeping bag
on the park bench
a prayer

after many year’s absence
monarch butterflies
grace the garden

shuttered storefronts—
finding deer
downtown at dawn

before sunrise
tree roots
untie my laces

breathe in
breathe out and be
the breath
be here for each blossom
each rising of the sun

hail storm
thrashing the white pine
hour of the monkey

pink lily pads
a stork beaks up
the splash

spring dawn
in a foal's eyes
milky clouds

warm stars
slipping through our fingers
sand and time

a great mountain
washed with rain—
I climb it

Home

After thirty-seven years, he says it: "Let's sell the house and get out of here." How I longed to flee this island. High-school friends moved away. My sons escaped to Boston and New York City. And now my husband is ready to go. Thinking about my rose garden, the cove near our house, I wonder why I ever wanted to leave.

drifting clouds
spring's first wild geese
in the meadow

Catherine J.S. Lee lives, writes, teaches, and gardens on an island on the coast of Maine, USA, near Canada.  A published short-story writer for over 20 years, she began her haiku journey in July, 2007.  Her haiku have appeared in a variety of print and online journals and some have done well in national and international contests.  Her collection, All That Remains, was the winner of the 2010 Turtle Light Press Haiku Chapbook Competition. 

The haiga editor’s comment:

Cat gives us a lot to think about. Her haiga are very resonant with wonderful photographs that interactively compliment her haiku. The thought that “black ducks” can lead you home is something intriguing to ponder. One remarkable aspect of her haiga dwells in her methodical approach as to where she will place her haiku on the photograph. Wonderful and traditional, her haiga will have a lasting place here at Simply Haiku (in this case Simply Haiga!)

Catherine J.S. Lee lives, writes, teaches, and gardens on an island on the coast of Maine, USA, near Canada. A variety of print and online journals have published her haiku. Her collection, All That Remains, was the winner of the 2010 Turtle Light Press Haiku Chapbook Competition and was published this spring, 2011. She is one of 18 featured poets in A New Resonance 7:  Emerging Voices in English Language Haiku, new this spring from Red Moon Press.  

saying penance
at the communion rail
piety failed me
I saw myself,bowing
just perfectly so

rushing to lecture
frantic I don't know the room
will the students
be waiting? oh,wake up
you've been retired a year

 
slabs of cold
gelatinous air slide downhill
in the morning
light and shadows painted
on implausible layers of glass

Fires and Stones

A street preacher spitting fire and brimstone, warning of the Day of the Lord to the brother in the back, who’s casually slipping something to another’s hand. The sister in the front, crying out with the Spirit, tears smearing her heavy make-up, confessing until it’s time to turn another trick for food. Fire and brimstone to scare the children straight and stave off his next fix. Fire and brimstone to whip the followers into a frenzy and fill his “Glory, glory, hallelujah!” wallet.

a mitten
marring the freshly-fallen snow —
childhood lost

A few blocks away, we share half a gyro and a heart-led prayer on the stone wall outside the homeless shelter. A flick. A small flame from the lighter finally sparks his cigarette and un-numbs our hands. I’ll be back in the morning, but he’ll be gone to wherever he goes.

warm ashes —
night stars calling lost souls
home

Haibun Today, December 2018

pear blossom thawing to the beat of wrensong

young inmate reupholstering a library window seat

trombone smile in a hoarse voice   widdly roo de waz

midnight dock wind the melody of lobster pots

choked with stone
prairie verbena grips wind
chancing

a longspur licks a ladybug from the flowers

read rimbaud at last
violets filled my mouth
lush

bum wine pints mock the jesus on grandma’s wall

plains dusk / water stargrass
wreathes dead fish
still

off bank a grasp of sneezeweed shudders & bows

thumb the gideon’s
all hotels smell this way
weary

dogs rut on the hot chat, burn paws & stomachs

crepuscule with monk. autumn's raven settles into the bone

withered leaves cling in whispers from the oak

moonlight by proxy a streetlight stains the sleepless walls

only an hour left before rapture

another news cycle and still no closer to god

yes and no the question of consent

deeper than thought a light frost sublimates into the wind

running on empty nest syndrome

she tidies the cedar chest, a photo falls to the floor

smoke from the bonfire of letters

no paper trail and yet as guilty as any other

first stone is a glancing blow

ripples of sunlight on snowmelt a stonefly nymph

the delta of venus in furs

braiding a sense of self from snippets of folksong

into the grand fugue state of the union

doddling this way and that, he's forgotten the war

contrails fading high in the crosswinds

petal by petal by petal... the hours pour through me

off beat and slightly out of tune