Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Happy Imbolc! More Farmyard Haiku!

Imbolc is here again: the old Celtic celebration of women, poetry, milk, and fire. I've tossed back a celebratory mug of hot chocolate, sent off a few letters to women I admire, and stoked the wood stove... so now it's time for poetry!

Here's a haiku almanac of the last few months on the farm:

Our thirteen guineas
fed dogs, hawks, and foxes too.
"Free-range" comes with risks.

Chanterelle shining
Amidst shadows in deep woods:
Gold in them there hills!

Celtic year's turning
small lights guide along dark paths
Tonight, we shall sing!

Old Celts used turnips
To light the dead home. Pumpkin's
A New World trade-up!

Into year's dark half
We delve. Opposite of Spring
Isn't Fall, but Root

Brought home hay today
So pigs can burrow and build
a grand storm-proof nest

Come, sweet autumn rain:
All the tools are put away
And pig's got a roof!

O, well-carved pumpkin
Weep not. Full of light you go,
Now to join the saints.

Rural peace of mind:
high woodstacks, jam-full pantry,
Pig's jolt-squeak (fence works).

Bare witness of trees
documents the naked truth
at the branch office.

November closes
Wet snow swells the woodland streams
in shade, mushrooms bloom

Little Shiitake,
such goodness in such small space:
Edible haiku!


Ice-rime all around.
Farmstead feathers stir, birds cluck:
Tea-time for chickens!

(Holiday Dollmaker's Lament:)
Artisan's eyestrain
overtakes. Help! Need some elves
to finish more elves!

Ah, Christmas! Warm fire,
Frozen fields, frozen streams, and...
Frozen shower drain.

Oh, pipes, won't you sing?
Warm, uncrystalize and flow.
I need a shower!

Drink deep, my cattle.
Hose uncoils, fills trough to brim
Before ice returns.

Subzero at dawn
hens huddle in nestboxes
laying eggsicles.

Ah dinnae ken gin
Ye can screeve haiku in Scots;
Thocht I'd hae a gae!
(I don't know if / you can write haiku in Scots / Thought I'd give it a try!)

Dawn o Rab Burns Nicht
Craitures blether poetry
tae toast Scotia's bard.

(Thoughts on retrieving wayward livestock after nightfall:)
We heed neighbor's call,
with rope and boots in snowstorm.
Wanna buy a bull?

Alright, folks: your turn! 'Tis the season for poetic inspiration and creative merry-making. Leave a comment with a haiku or two!


Doug Curlin said...

I lived in Maine for four years during the 60s, when my father was in the Air Force, and the base in Bangor was still open. We lived in Orrington for a while, then moved into Bangor itself.

My whole family grew to love Maine, probably more than any other place we lived.

I've taken you up on your invitation to write some haiku, bringing back some of my memories.


Doug Curlin, Winder, Georgia

Unlike up in Maine,
My daffodils flower now--
Bright buttery blooms.

Dream now of summer,
When you break from planting, and
Drink bitter Moxie.

Acquiesce aloud
To a neighbor's narration
The Maine way: Ayuh.

The school bus comes through,
Undeterred by fresh snowfalls.
It follows the plow.

Dripping galoshes
Dry by the radiator,
Next to wool mittens.

One hour of daylight
Is left after school lets out.
Let me get my sled!

Saturday morning
Means ice skating on the pond:
Three hours of gliding!

Then we trudge homeward,
For a lunch of hot bean soup
And Fluffernutters!

Springtime comes, the pond's
Filled with swimming pollywogs.
We catch them in jars.

Spring is time for pain:
Blackflies hatch and attack me,
Tiny torturers!

MaineCelt said...

Doug-- Brilliant! Thank you so much for your contributions! (Mmmm, Moxie!)