Self and reality. Symbol and language. Myth and image. Memory and consciousness.
Dream and unreality: locus communis.

Monday, October 25, 2010

66/365 - 70/365


Confusion reigns. I am currently existing in the middle of two time streams: my haiku remain primarily a hundred days in the past, as a recording of my former self; whereas my general commentaries lie in the “now” moment, reacting in mid-transformation. So. It is time to bridge the two into one functional flow of information. With today’s entry I begin clustering the haiku in bundles, gradually, bringing them up as close as possible to the current timeline.

In the beginning I refrained from presenting verses in this manner because I firmly believe too many poems presented without adequate breaks cause a gluttonous stimulus to the reading brain. What results is an over-production of the visual imagery in the head. A chaotic meshing of ideas. A knot of realities. And less concentration on the individual work will result.

However, perhaps displaying four or five at a time will be less of a flood of imagery, still allowing the proper moments of reflection. For clarification, over the next few weeks, each haiku group will show the original date of creation.

07.16.10
Cross the summer ground
collections of lacewing flies
gather like dead leaves.

07.17.10
Crawfish chimneys of mud. Haven’t seen these in a long time. In Slidell I could locate a large clutch of the creatures when I mowed the grass. What brings this to my head tonight? Random thought or potential poem?

Sudden summer falls
down a flight of stairs. Banging
drums, clashes of storms.

07.18.10
It rained yesterday and today. A solid drench of thunderstorms. A necessity. Already can see a difference in the grass. It transforms to a thick carpet overnight. The gardenia bushes plump out with new leaves. Slick green.

Summer dragonflies—
at least ten, or more, coasting
across the back yard.

07.19.10
The mirror reflects
back the image of a man
displaced with his craft.

07.20.10
Our neighbor’s parrots
screech all morning honoring
their captivity.

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