evening chill
dye spreads over the pleated cloth
I started getting serious about haiku at
about the same time I became interested in tie-dyeing. Haiku led me into
Japanese culture, where I learned about the art of shibori.
Shibori is an ancient Japanese art of fabric dyeing. Cloth is folded, pleated, wrapped, and tied tightly. The tied cloth is then soaked in a vat of dye. The ties protect parts of the cloth from the dye, creating diffusion patterns in intricate designs. Eventually, the cloth is unwrapped to reveal its secrets. Master shibori artists sometimes repeat the process as many as sixty times to create their finest kimonos.
Haiku celebrates the “AHA” moment, using the juxtaposition of two images to suggest something larger and difficult to articulate. This page juxtaposes the art of haiku with the art of shibori, celebrating the mono no aware moment of unwrapping, the moment when you see what has previously been hidden by the outer folds of reality.
Aha!
See this,
...and this
......and this.
The background image for this page is an arashi shibori fabric hand-dyed by yours truly. “Arashi” means “wind-driven rain” in Japanese.
This page traces my personal haiku development, from my earliest pre-haiku haiku to my latest efforts.
Heather's Original Haiku Page
My earliest, “pre-haiku” haiku
Heather's 1999-2000 Haiku Page
My earliest serious haiku
Heather's 2001 Haiku Page
Continuing evolution of my personal haiku style
Heather's 2002 Haiku Page
Another year's attempts to stalk the wild juxtaposition
Heather's 2003 Haiku Page
Reaching back to Basho and Buson and Issa, trying to understand once again what haiku is
In 2004, I went through a long dry spell. Every time a haiku started to write itself in my mind, it dried up, crumbled, and turned to dust. That was most discouraging, and I couldn't imagine how I ever managed to finish a haiku. I saw something, like the lights of the Monterey peninsula disappearing behind a blowing mist, and I thought "that could be a haiku," but, somehow, it wasn't.
My haiku mind was missing, and I wasn't even inspired enough to try to find it.
Happily, my haiku mind bounced back early in 2005, and I look forward to savoring the haiku moments along the road this year.
dusk shadows
the murmur of the creek
along the quiet road
robin song
fresh rainwater
in the weed-choked ditch
wind-rippled trees
i open my mouth wider
for the dentist
women's group
eight candle flames flicker
with our breath
evening stillness
he cups a baby hedgehog
in his hands
celtic harp
the first raindrops touch
my cheeks
deep puddle
raindrops scatter the reflection
of the streetlight
stone fountain
rust stains
the empty bowl
abandoned school
clover heads
on the ragged grass
drifting oak pollen
an empty bottle
in the cyclone fence
deserted playground
gnat trails crisscross
the sky
steep trail
the crowns of the firs rise
into the mist
silence and space
her smile welcomes me
to the room
silent worship
haloes surround
the trees
inner light
his feet trace
the stone labyrinth
waiting on god
the swish of the string mop
on cement
quaker charades
how do you act out
"discernment?"
fading taillights
another slow tick
in god's clock
wooded ridge
faded white lines
on the baseball diamond
frog chorus
the slamming door
of the portapotty
lost child
a dry toothbrush
in the rack
blowing petals
the tree's shadow grows
a little longer
day is done
poppies amidst the dying grass
sudden breeze
a gnarled lilac
by the garden gate
day moon
cottonwoods shimmer
in the breeze
distant hawk
a gust of cherry petals crosses the lawn
hot flash
waves of starlight wash over my bare skin
stinging rebuke
the sudden clarity
of tears
green sister
brushing my brow
with leafy hands
beach traffic
the tan heads of the grass
so still
winding road
the knots in my thinking
untangle
sullen afternoon
a burst of static
from the speakers
virginia slims
she has the perfect face
for radio
bowed treetops
a raindrop changes course
on the hospital window
beach traffic
one tiny patent leather shoe
on the median
4th of july
bill clinton's face
on the bookshop door
dawn shadows
your kiss stirs me from the depths
of my dreams
naked silhouette
hints of the woman
i used to be
election day
combing lice
out of the children's hair
no altar
silence and stillness frame
the faces I love
he rises from the silence
on wobbly knees
his old face full of light
words of love
pour through his form
light puddles around him
that old man
sitting in the front row
socks pulled up neatly
winter harbor
a string of small boats
along the pier
snow-capped fence
hands close
around the earthen mug
winter haze
her lantern in the window
guides us home
bare trees
a trail of bread crumbs
in the yard
winter sunshine
the pile of books
on my bedside table
old brown knife
fish scales shimmer
on her cannery boots
winter clarity
she picks out a new tune
on the piano
war memorial
each tile bears the name
of a dead soldier
town clock
another local boy dies
in iraq
small town paper
his short biography
finished
peace march
another flag-draped casket
on its way home
4-month old
her father just a photo
on the mantle
all the tears
can never bridge
the pain
family reunion
the old folks linger
by the door
empty house
the children's footsteps echo
in the night
upturned basket
hulled beans
roll across the floor
final bell
children leap
down the school steps
gray evening
a pile of laundry
on the unmade bed
first warm day
cobwebs on the saddle
of his bicycle
yard clean-up
a raw wind flattens
the first iris
spring breakup
ten new gossip threads
on the fan blog
justice sunday
his darkness matches
my light
bridge party
she eases her feet
out of her high heels
hoeing potatoes
an old down jacket
on the garden bench
distant thunder
another iris opens
its petals
crossed ski tips
a pileated woodpecker
on the white fir
tap! tap! tap!
a nodding red crest
against bright green moss
breathing hard
pull up a tree, woodpecker,
and stay awhile
wings blur
the gentle sweep of the snow
falling from the treetops
a shared smile
the stump, stump, stump of ski poles
on the uphill climb
moonlit walk
tears splash down the baby's fat cheeks
dark trees sway
oh baby! why won't you sleep?
high noon
the calico cat opens
one eye
labor day
another company cuts
health benefits
labor day
wondering how that teenage body
fit inside mine
crowning moment
wait! I've changed my mind
about having this baby!
buckbrush in bloom
the mountains surge away
to meet the clouds
hilltop cemetery
a redtail hawk hovers
against the clouds
scent of jasmine
her crystal pendant brushes
her breast
blue-eyed grass
a hawk's shadow skims
the field
sea breeze
the peahens ignore
his shimmering tail
bracken meadow
the distant clanking
of a cowbell
the salt of his skin
a cloud of mosquitos
outside the tent
evening
the scent of water
on asphalt
high noon
a milkweed wilts in the crotch
of the old oak
summer dawn
a heavy silence hangs
in the still, warm air
summer drought --
a line of cars creeps
through town
hindsight
that fall I had
rollerblading backwards
lingers in my hip long after
you left
sudden rain
a water balloon bursts
at his feet
worn work gloves
the thunk-thunk-thunk of wet logs
hitting the woodpile
coffee break
three stellers jays gossip
over the compost
shagging flies
the shadow of a swallow
on the outfield grass
no fog
the crisp white trousers
of the mexican sailor
torn shadow
a woman's heart flutters
in the breeze
sword dancer --
her high-heeled shoe crosses
the line
se rendre
the shadows of the night
caress her
fleshy thighs
the lithe girl lost
in my imagination
endless summer
another beach boys tune
on the oldies station
light overcast
a mourning dove lands
on the pigeon cage
train whistle
she skips another stone
across the creek
summer fog
he pulls his roll apart
before eating it
summer stars
my husband starts snoring
again
distant drought
a butterfly weaves in and out
of the live oak
presque vu
the image of a solar eclipse
through a pinhole
world view
the duck's feet push
through the algae
autumn memories
well-worn boots crush
the brittle leaves
autumn dreams
a new range of hair colors
at the beauty parlor
autumn night
your fingers trace the shape
of my dreams
august night --
the cricket's song keeps time
with the neighbor's stereo
long cast
the angler pulls a bass
out of the sunset
Labor Day heat
he heaves the battered chainsaw
into the shed
approaching squall
the bedraggled seagull grabs
a fish head
clump! clump! clump!
these boots stomp the poetry
out of my soul
end of summer
the quail's topknot bobs
across the
end of summer
the peahens ignore
the peacock
sticky honeycomb
a bee tumbles out
of the hibiscus
cricket song
the woodpile tarp gleams
in the moonlight
autumn clarity
the spoon scrapes the bottom
of the tea tin
fall morning
two miniature knights agree
to fight the dragon
autumn sunshine
a spaceship explodes
on the carpet
autumn haze
a kingfisher comes to rest
on the oak snag
morning stillness
a squirrel scolds the man
raking walnuts
fitful breeze
only a few yellow leaves left
on the maple
morning rain
yellow leaves in pieces
under the swings
october clouds
grease stains in relief
on the highway
storm clouds
the woman separates
the squabbling boys
time change
the small boy laughs
at his own joke
lingering clouds
the scent of graphite
from the boys' drawings
yellow ribbons
the fat man pumps gas
into his SUV
veterans' day
the former green beret hides
in his barn
contrails
a coyote lollops
across the road
indian summer
the ceiling fan creaks
on startup
evening breeze
the pedant picks
her nose
banked fire
moon shadows
on the bedroom wall
cold snap
the refrigerator freezes
the lettuce
sunrise
two boys squabble
under the comforter
quivering hesitancy
the mouse twitches her nose
before eating the cat's cheese
waning moon
the skunk waddles
down the slope
tree shadows
the coyote's ears lie
close to its head
shreds of cloud
the raccoon scampers off
carrying a corn cob
ragged leaves
where do cockroaches keep
their ears?
dark water
halyards slap
against the mast
november darkness
tree shadows flicker
across the frosted glass
breaking waves
my daughter tries to catch the wind
in her hands
country road
the crowns of the madrones heavy
with orange berries
november sunshine
the taste of lemon pepper
on my lips
gray thanksgiving
an outburst of laughter
from the kitchen
I thought
I was in love
but my heart was only
beating faster because I was
afraid
winter twilight
the warmth of his back
against mine
first raindrops
the small boy hangs
on his brother's leg
winter wind
she uses her failed haiku
to start the fire
drawn shades --
the suncatcher swings
on its chain
solstice
the candle in the putt-putt boat
goes out
early winter
a fixed smile
on her new face
christmas break
sniffly kids wrapped in quilts
by the fire
presents
the calico cat settles herself
on the hood of the car
new year
the slow march of raindrops
on the roof
January
the health club crowded
with resolutions
late december
his new year's resolution is
1680 X 1050
gray dusk
new speed bumps in the road
to my old school
nightfall
shooting stars
on the power lines
winter night
the linemen's floodlights glow
in the fog
cold basement
just put the christmas tree stand
next to the crutches
falling wood smoke
a crooked stack of boxes
on the shop shelf
january sunshine
a little fir tree leans
against the fir stump
sunlit raindrop
scattered redwood fronds
on the brown tarp
paper snowflakes
a little redwood wreathed
in wood smoke
grass sprouts
the weathered slats
of the compost bin
january sunshine
the little boy puts on
a pair of shorts
watercolor sky
the leafless sycamore trembles
in the breeze
mixed rain and sleet
the hothouse rose drops
another petal
blue sky
a patch of snow in the shade
of the cedars
lowering sky
a dark-eyed junco pauses
on the woodpile
break in the clouds
i try to write a haiku with
mayonnaise
morning rain
the tea kettle
boils over
silent worship
my heart gets up and dances
across the room
spring rain
the new woman seems too small
for your chair
fine rain
a faded plastic flower
on the window
dusty crystal
rains keeps falling
on the flattened grass
new growth
rodent droppings
on the window sill
spring breeze
small fingers trace the shape
of the moon hare
spring fever
the sun sets on the mountain
where he lives
night rain
a raccoon slurps water
from the wading pool
ribbed saguaro
a line of fluff balls follows
the quail
blades of grass
the would-be haiku warriors tilt
at windmills
spring drizzle
another robin sings
the same old song
deserted highway
wind-driven rain pummels
the new maple leaves
tender new leaves
wind-driven rain lashes
the garden shed
drenching rain
a stellers jay adds another twig
to its nest
Copyright © 2000-2005 by Heather Madrone . All rights reserved.