Category Archives: Haibun

Core Beliefs – MLMM Sunday Writing Challenge


“Everyone is entitled to their own opinion.” Of course this is true and reasonable, allowing us to agree to disagree in many cases, while still respecting the person holding said opinion.

Except…(Now if you are thinking, here comes the “but” you would be right. This is a very big BUT!)…except when opinions are touted as absolute, unwavering truth, despite known indisputable facts to the contrary, I am afraid I cannot agree to disagree, and I most certainly cannot respect people who hold these erroneous opinions. That is the rub, isn’t it? It is why we can’t get along anymore. It is why our society is so polarized and fractured.

The opinionated for opinion’s sake will often say, “It’s impossible to know the truth anymore, anyway.” It is tricky, I’ll give you that, especially in this age of special interest-influenced news outlets and hostile other-government attacks on us through social media, as well as our softening aversion to lies and alternative facts. It is especially troublesome in this age where winning elections for power rather than for service’s sake is the modus operandi of our politics; where facts are inconvenient truths that must be obstructed.

I have decided I will not have opinions anymore. I know I am entitled to them. That’s not the point. Opinions are rubbish if they are not informed by truth, (in my opinion of course) and since we are living in a time of open season on the truth, it is best to keep any opinions I might have, even though I am now loath to have them, to myself.

It goes without saying that I would appreciate others keeping their opinions to themselves as well. If I want someone’s opinion, I will certainly ask for it. In other words, I won’t be asking for it. As for the truth, I don’t particularly care to know that either. Truth in the absolute sense is dead. It can’t be trusted. Which creeps into a new category…faith.

Let’s not go there. Let’s just not.

Oh no you didn’t…
how do you do it, straight-faced,
believe in the lie?


This Haibun for MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Sunday Writing Prompt: For this challenge I want you to examine one of your core beliefs.

Shy Blush – A Haiku

it’s not modesty
flushing my face deep crimson,
it is passion’s rage


For Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge, Prompt words: shy (modest) & blush (flush).

Preta & Guisard – Friday’s AND Saturday’s Words of the Day

I missed posting yesterday’s word of the day, but as a bonus, today you shall have two lovely words to wrap your brain around! Friday’s word, Preta, a noun from Hindu Mythology meaning a wandering or disturbed ghost. And Saturday’s word, Guisard, a noun the means a person who wears a mask; mummer.

Given the season and impending dark night of all souls hallow, I thought it would be fitting to combine the two in a Haiku. Here’s a bit of history on the two from

Preta finds its origins In Sanskrit where e is a long vowel ( it is also transliterated as ē). Hindi grammarians correctly analyzed e as a monophthong replacing an earlier dipthong ai; thus the Sanskrit adjective preta, “gone before, deceased” is from an earlier form, ‘praita’, formed from the adverb and prefix ‘pra’ – “forth” and ‘ita’ – “gone”. Pra- is cognate with the Latin and Greek prepositions and prefixes, ‘prō’/‘pró’ (Greek) and ‘prae’, all of them meaning “before; in front of”. The Sanskrit participle ‘ita’ corresponds exactly with the Latin ‘itum’, past participle is the verb ‘īre’, “to go” and the Greek verbal adjective ‘itós’ “passable”, all from the Proto-Indi-European root ‘ei’, ‘i’ -“to go”. Preta entered English in the early 19th century. From wictionary we learn that: a Preta is a hungry ghost (a supernatural being in Buddhist folklore, the spirit of a greedy person whose divine retribution is to never be sated). How many a weary folk has woken to the first day of November the victim of mischievous antics of Pretas whose quest for sweets was not sated, in the form of TP garlands and raw egg peltings?!

And then there is Guisard, a Scottish and North English word. The first part of the word, guise, in Scotland and northern England means “to appear or go in disguise.” The suffix -ard, occasionally spelled -art, is now used mostly in a pejorative sense for someone who does something habitually or excessively, e.g., drunkard, braggart. Guisard entered English in the 17th century. Soon comes Halloween, when greedy, giddy guisards roam the streets, banging on doors, declaring their mantra, “trick or treat”. A wise somebody will appease these mummers by offering them the sweets they crave lest they transform into scary pretas with a vendetta to settle!

It’s all in good fun of course! An annual ritual that hearkens to an age when the veil between the living and the dead was not quite as pronounced. Our ancestors solemnly remembered and honored the dead more formally; gone but definitely not forgotten. Today we passingly engage this annual ritual in sport, sending our costumed children to the streets for a night of innocent begging. But the thinness of the veil is still there, souls lurking in the shadows, which adds to the drama of this dark, dark time.

These days, I must admit I turn my porch light out, not because I don’t enjoy the onslaught of tiny ghouls and gremlins, but because they terrify my fury housemates. We sit in darkness to the sound of potter-pattering feet outside our door…and entertain the lore of my ancestors, setting a place of honor at my table for loved ones passed. Sometimes I light a candle…or two or three to let them know I remember. I feel their presence ever so near. It could very well be my imagination, but there is something to this ancient dark night of all souls. Something indeed!

this dark night of souls
comes guisards begging for treats
pretas in the mist


Shi Sai Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 8 October 2017

It befuddles and confounds us; the senseless rage rising up like fire, raining down like acid. Friendly fire that no walls, travel bans or profiling can protect us from. Why are we confused by the realization that our worst enemy is not some other?

And yet we refuse to own it once again. Those with the power to address tragedy turn their eyes away. Their pale lips drip with platitudes and empty prayers, while their pockets moan to be filled with alms for their loyal cowardice.

It is no longer when, how or if this madness will ever end. We are trapped in this house of mirrors. But the terrible monster is not hiding behind the looking glass. No. The monster stands tall and center, glaring at us; a million eyes, burning holes through our souls.

Shi Sai Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 8 October 2017

okay universe…you have my attention
in the wake of hate’s fire
it was the perfect disguise
misty shapeshifting fay
soul deep pools of ebon wonder
here’s the order in black and white
luna’s face glows flush
gently letting go
swirling into syllables
truth’s reflection burning bright
of course we never let on
crave its sweetness
by lingering sadness
rooted in stone
every sinister force
untouched by seasons


A shi sai or ReVerse poem is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the shi sai features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week.

Shi Sai Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 1 October 2017

Being an optimist is exhausting, especially now. I’m not going to rattle off another list of what is wrong with the world. You already know it…if you’re paying attention. And I’m guessing you’re exhausted like me.

I’ve stopped saying “I can’t believe it! How is this happening?!” I’ve stopped believing that I can count on people, even those I love, to do the right thing. I’ve started to believe that voting doesn’t matter because politicians are not in it for the people, but to line their pockets and ensure comfortable retirements for themselves.

I’m seriously considering the fact that I may not be an optimist after all. I’m clearly not up to the task. But I can’t bring myself to admit that I’m a pessimist either. Luckily for me, and you too if you’re exhausted, there is another option. Being a realist.

I looked up realist and found the perfect definition in the Urban Dictionary:

Realists have a firm grip on reality and can see things for what they are, not what they are told they are. Realists have their own views and do not fall victim to propaganda, misconception, or titles!

1. There is the Pessimist who believes the glass is half empty!

2. There is the Optimist who believes the glass is half full!

3. Then there is the Realist who knows it is just half a fucking glass!

No more exhausting “rah rah la-la-la, everything is unicorns and rainbows” optimism from me! No more “kiss your ass goodbye, the sky is falling” pessimism either. They’re both exhausting and in a word, delusional. Realism is where it’s at. My self-talk needs a do-over…

“So yeah, things suck…a lot…right now. And it’s probably gonna get worse before it gets better. Fortunately for you, for everyone, it won’t last forever. It never does. Get a grip! In the meantime, the sun is shining and the sky is blue. Or maybe it’s raining. Deal with it. We need rain sometimes. It helps plants…and people grow. But the sky is definitely not falling, so get over yourself. And for god’s sake, get out of bed. Today is 24 hours of whatever you choose to make it. Clock is ticking sweetheart. Get out there. Kick some ass!”

I’m definitely pessimistically, optimistic that being a realist is the way to go. I am so over being an extremist. At the end of the day I might still be exhausted, but it will be well earned exhaustion from keeping it real!

Have a great week everyone! Here’s to keeping it real and kicking it!

Shi Sai Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 1 October 2017

conformation be damned

it drives us mad if we ignore it

and then some

the twister spared the trees 

air dense with death’s balm

chaos rages, earth in flux

tossed and forgotten

a tiny dot on a page

back in the day

pipe-dreams on inked pages

until the lights went out

ending suddenly into dead, black silence

tracks through the wild

even if it is hard to see…

I am not dazzled

death whispers to her


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