New haiga by Rachel Green

*
Regular IS&T contributor Rachel Green is a novel writer who will shortly become an novel author,
but she starts every day with walking her dogs and writing poetry.
Books of haiku available from www.leatherdyke.co.uk

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Two translations by Gwilym Williams


Regular IS&T contributor (and Austrian resident) Gwilym Williams has just translated these two short poems by the late Christine Busta from the original German. The poems were first published Busta's collection
Wenn du das Wappen der Liebe malst…Gedichte (Otto Müller Verlag, Salzburg, 1981) Busta died in 1987.
 

MIGRATING BIRDS
 
How many birds will
never reach the warmer land?
 
To escape the cold
will others now fly
to the abandoned nests?
 
Where is home, if one waits to be recalled?
Is it the place where one learnt to fly?
 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~


THE DREAM OF THE BREAD-ANGEL
 
He brought them the sun.
He held it pressed to his breast.
The sun was crusty and dark.
 
They didn't
even have a knife
to divide it.
 
They have
torn the sun to pieces –
like wolves.

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Patrick Coldstream's gone running


Running


Those springloaded, aerodynamic Nikes
Touch my old heart for their simple fore-runner,
The plain gymshoe, plimsoll or sandshoe, which
We whitened then with bottled white, first cousin
To the chalky compound that coated the trundling wheel
Of the contraption that ruled the lines on the grass
Of the sports field, where panting on flying feet,
Sparkling with Blanco (name returns now), I breasted the
Winners’ tape, triumphant first for the only sporting occasion
In my career, who now at seventy strap myself into trainers
To jog round the block.  

*
Patrick Coldstream says “Once a journalist, and a promoter of causes,
have written a memoir, attended  the Poetry School and have eight
grandchildren.”

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Catherine Edmunds has a sad and soggy sonnet to tell


We haven't published any sonnets on IS&T for some time but this one really ticked all the boxes – in a pleasantly subversive way…


A sad soggy sonnet


She wore a lampshade on her head that day
despite the warnings of the weather man
who promised rain. She missed the bus, so ran
and splashed through floods and puddles all the way
arriving late for school, with dripping hair,
her lampshade’s tassels matted, limp and sad.
“I’m wet!” she cried. “Of course you are, you mad
deluded cow,” the teacher said, but where
a school friend has carte blanche to say such words
a teacher shouldn’t. “Ooh!” the whole class said
forgetting for a moment that a head
adorned with soggy lampshade looks absurd.
The teacher glared, the children shook with fear,
the lampshade-laden lassie shed a tear.


* Catherine Edmunds’ literary style is encapsulated in the title of her poetry collection wormwood, earth and honey. Her artwork veers between delicate portraiture, exploding dogs and decomposing toads.
www.freewebs.com/catherineedmunds/

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Deborah Gordon can smell a billion lilies

A Billion Lilies
 
 
I dream
 
A hundred wishes
As the day begins
To loom.
 
I taste
 
2000 kisses
As they prance
Around my room.
 
I think
 
A million sillies  
As my head
Begins to spin.
 
 
I smell
 
A billion lilies
As I tumble
In the bin.


* Deborah Gordon says “I am an aspiring Sussex-based writer of poetry and prose and have been writing since the age of seven. My style is quite eclectic, however my focus falls mainly upon the Philosophical/Spiritual aspects of life and I love the concept of movement in poetry. I have had recent  work published with Inclement, Phoenix, The Journal,  Garbaj, Sarasvati, The Dawn Treader, Fire  and  Again Last Night. My first collection of poetry The Bluebells Pray (Indigo Dreams Press) is available from April 2009.”

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Alexis Rotella remembers a simpler time

* Alexis Rotella is a regular contributor of both traditional and digital haiga to IS&T. We're publishing this today because the sun is shining and it feels like the start of spring.

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Lani thinks the Muse can be a bitch

The Muse
 

i wish i had
the words
that told the story
showed the love
buried the hate
killed the evildoers
reunited the lovers
 
i wish i didn't
have to wrestle
the machine to give
the prefect spelling
the noble phrasing
the honest truth
 
i wish the Muse
wasn't such a bitch
 
 
* “My name is Lani. I live and work in coastal South Carolina. My hubby and dog sometime understand my need to wrestle with the machine for dribs and drabs of poetry.”

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