Photography Blog from ON.ca.

Posts tagged “haiku

From Here to There

 

From here to there falls

blossoms swimming through still air –

floating memories.

 

 

 


Traveller Seeks Horizon

 

 

a gaze of longing –

Traveller seeks horizon’s line,

when  journey begins.

 

 

 

 


Hoar Frost December 23 – Antique Light

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From Environment Canada Glossary :

Frost is the condition that exists when the temperature of the air near the earth or earth-bound objects falls to freezing or lower (0 °C).

Alternately, frost or hoar frost describes a deposition of ice crystals on objects by direct sublimation of water vapour from the air.

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How we mark the transitioning vapour as it falls upon our lives –  the rise and fall of the emotions as they move from light to shadow, dusk to dawn.  Language too builds layers of meaning, some buried deeply, like compressed snow, it falls then hardens in their depths, only to melt away and disappear with the changing seasons.

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Before 900 – Middle English, hor ; Old English hār ; cognate with Old Norse hārr grey with age, Old Frisian hēr grey, Old High German hēr old ( German hehr august, sublime)

adj. Hoar/Hoary

Old English har “hoary, gray, venerable, old,” the connecting notion being grey hair, from Proto-Germanic *haira (cf. Old Norse harr “gray-haired, old,” Old Saxon, Old High German her “distinguished, noble, glorious,” German hehr). German also uses the word as a title of respect, in Herr. Of frost, it is recorded in Old English, perhaps expressing the resemblance of the white feathers of frost to an old man’s beard. Used as an attribute of boundary stones in Anglo-Saxon, perhaps in reference to being grey with lichens, hence its appearance in place-names.

 

white hair’d limbs, chill’d air –

grasping at light clouded  sky’s

kiss upon the earth.

 

Winter’s sublime age –

grey with rising crystal strands,

so my face grows frost . 

Proudly lichen fiercely clings,

Counting out  bordering years.

 

 

 

 


Winter has parked the Car for the Season

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Empty parking spots

full of winter’s sharp cold edge –

busy night ahead.

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The Plasticman Always Rings My Lovely

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The Plasticman always rings My Lovely, every Wednesday at midnight. It is the same ending to every conversation, “Bats eat the fish bones of time“. It doesn’t matter now.  I got my heater and he’s going to get a Harlem Gooseberry in his smiler before sunrise. Tooting the wrong ringer will get him a twist and crackle, and then he will jump like a flame in a tango bar.  Once I’m done, he’ll be ready for the darkroom scanner. 

Trigger man takes slugs,

Trip for biscuits gone south fast –

fish bones stick down deep……