THOSE GOOD OLD SCHOOL DAYS

Mother talks to me of walks to her country school, along honeysuckled-scented lanes
of hawthorns and high hedges, collecting chestnuts on the way, to skin and string, to
play conkers with our aunt Serena. She asks, “Remember, you sat behind me?” Then,
silence. She looks away. She dislikes me watching her walking in and out of heir-loomed
rooms, lost, looking for something familiar. Today, with glee, she screams she’s found me:
“Ah, there you are, Serena!”

her sister is dead
has been for ten years
and I am
my mother’s
darling daughter


~~~

©barbaraataylor2008
this haibun first published on Haibun Today
October 16, 2008


Triggered Thoughts

Colleen reminded me of Ireland -
Of misty hills, greenness and smoky bogs

Scarlet fuchsias spilling over stone walls
Shamrock-covered paddocks, contented cows

Mud and manures, and speaking with farm beasts
Praising the chickens for their big brown eggs.

Natives whose thoughts were in orange and green
Paraded in streets with icons of ire

And rain for days and forever
And rain for days and forever.

Colleen reminded me of Ireland --
Of white-painted cottages with thatched roofs;

Jigging and dancing to an Irish song
To the pipes, tin whistles, spoons and the drums

Of a spirited throng of story-folk
In tales of famine, hardship, rebellion,

And transportation to a world Downunder
Where our rich Celtic essence stays today.

And rain for days and forever
And rain for days and forever.

Colleen reminded me of Ireland -
Hawthorn hedges, blackbirds, curlews and swans;

Dripping gold honeycombs and blackberry jam
Smells of fresh soda bread, fast burning turf

Donkeys, and half-doors, peak-capped leprechauns,
Mountains, rainbows, castles, spires of Armagh;

Pigeons and poundy, a stew for a queen
Salmon and trout from clean mountain stream

And rain for days and forever
And rain for days and forever

Colleen reminded me of Ireland
and rain for days and forever.


~~~

©barbaraataylor2004
first published July 2005 at
  Triplopia, Noise Issue
<www.triplopia.org/inside.cfm/ct/452>



   Fiddling With Their Blarney
                               --- a triparshva by Barbara A Taylor (Australia) and Moira Richards (South Africa)
 
snowflakes
a snowstorm of petals
over the equator
 
taking off the layers
four weeks early
 
a grey dove scooping
my white cat's fur
from the hedgerow
 
away from the headlines
still working for peace
 
a cold moon
winding shrouds of mist
around the newly dead
 
colourful changes
for the house on the hill
 
*
foreclosures
sending the banks
over the brim
 
a sudden crash
lightening frightens the sky

do these silver streaks
mean I'm too old
for summer love?

my holiday's romances
courtesy Mills & Boon
 
dressed in drag
a gallant knight
sweeps me off my feet
 
stomp stomp stomp
our giant carbon footprints
 
throughout generations
the family trees
of destruction
 
a forest turning
into the shades of flame
 
in the moonlight
a smoke on the porch
with six pumpkins
 
Linus dear
come on in already!
 
 *
round and round
an antlion carefully bores
its sandy pit
 
to hell with our work
lets go to the beach
 
mexican waves
waver, ripple, reel
across the bleachers
 
beware the wee folk
fiddling with their blarney
 
singing their songs
of sixpence, baby birds
all baked in a pie
 
losing a tail
for the grand lift off!
 
~~~
 
a triparshva by internet collaboration August 12 2008 to 12 December 2008
first published Blue Fifth Review,  Spring/Summer 2009
http://www.angelfire.com/zine/bluefifth/Spring2009/TaylorRichards.html