Magnapoets Japanese Form

midwinter

the child is learning

subtraction

life as I know it
interrupted---
on my modem
the DSL light flashing
a distressing red

published in red lights ("red lights feature").

Mount Auburn

teenagers giggling

by somebody's tomb

haiku walk ~

a four-leaf clover

in my notebook

***

promenade haïku ~

un trèfle à quatre feuilles

dans mon carnet

The way from Indira Gandhi International Airport to New Dehli center is a nightmare. After twenty days of work in Little Tibet, it’s not easy to confront crowds, heavy pollution and carcasses of dead cows at the margins of the road... The taxi carries my collegue and I to the Imperial Hotel in the central district of the megalopolis. A room is waiting for us before tomorrow's flight for Italy. The immense hotel imposes itself with all  its colonial glamour and once entered we plunge into the conditioned air and the warmest welcome of the Indian staff. It's clear at the first sight that this is one of the most luxurious hotels in India.

All the staff in reception speak PERFECT English, and after long weeks in Ladakh, where we communicated in broken English, I work hard to follow their speech.  Our room feels like a mini apartment: Firstly I phone to my mother in Italy directly from the room, then watch satelite TV and  call the hotel's laundry service.  Unlike the staff of reception, no one speaks good English there... the only phrases they know are "you are welcome" and "thank you Sir" when receiving the tip.

For the bathroom I have precise agreements with my travel companion: first I wash myself, and I have permission to stay all the time I want... and then it's his turn  (guessing he will stay a lot of hours!).  Absolute cleanliness reigns inside of our room: there's not a speck of dust... while I'm having the bath I recall that in Leh, for washing, we used a basin of water with a pitcher... When I leave the bathroom and pass the turn to my collegue, I decide to order something to eat in room and then try to understand the secret of this absolute cleanliness. And then I realize: the windows are sealed...
welded.

Dehli sunset;
over the rusty hovels
the Imperial Hotel

(from my book "Ten Little Haibuns" and previously published on Chrysanthemum#2)

 

posted for David Giacalone because typepad still hates him

how fitting,
the brightness of these stamps—
hand-inscribed inside,
a book of tanka
sent to me from Japan
 

published in Ribbons (Tanka Café), Dec. 2007.

I wrote this some time ago, but it popped into my head as a kind of companion piece to my recent "winter seclusion" posting.

yard sale

comments in the margin

of an old book

dancing up a storm

a line of galoshes

against the wall