This is the 350th post on M. Sakran’s blog of and about poetry and poetry related things. The first post was on April 24th, 2014. Appreciation is offered to all who have interacted with the blog.
There have been a lot of things on the blog up to this point. For example, there have been forty experimental poetry forms presented. A series of poems written in those forms is currently on going, and will continue with tomorrow’s post.
Other things that have been on the blog include things like forty one photographs to inspire poetry, forty artworks to inspire poetry and forty one poetry topic ideas. There have also been other things on the blog. A complete list of posts can be seen on the posts list page.
If anyone has any thoughts about the blog, feel free to express them, using the form below:
In commemoration of this 350th post, here is a three hundred and fifty word haibun (both the paragraph and the haiku together add up to three hundred and fifty words). Please enjoy.
In the spring, more than sixteen cycles of the moon ago, there, in the sand of the beach, something was written. As the sun rose, and beat a drum with rhythm, more lines were drawn in the sand. Around them, within them, and beside them, objects were gathered. Shells, sand dollars, driftwood, sea weed, in little patterns and arrangements. Birds flew by, crabs crawled on the shore, and fish looked out of the water to see the lines and to see the objects. In a hut, made from bamboo, on certain days, when the sun beat its drum, someone came out, and to the collection, of lines in the sand, and shells, sand dollars, driftwood and sea weed, tried to add something to them. On many drum beats, seeing what was there, and trying to add something mixing and unique. Usually, more lines, more shells, more things from the sea. Sometimes though, different things. Still from around, still on the beach, still from the sea, but something new. Maybe rocks. Maybe forms built from the sand. Matching but new. Still on the beach, and in some way, there before, but also, not there before. And then, when finished, for the drum beat, but before the next noted one, this someone would stand and think, at least on most beats. From back on a tall hill, looking out over the beach, seeing the lines and shells, sand dollars and driftwood, sea weed and rocks, and the forms in sand, and seeing a totality, with some notice of the individual things, and thinking of something else to place on the shore. Something that the birds and crabs and fish would want to see. Something that might be light, or something that might be heavy. And thinking of these things, with other considerations, and putting them in a place, and then standing back, out on the hill, and seeing what was there. Then going back inside the bamboo hut and waiting for the birds, crabs and fish to see.
Waves flow on the shore,
and on one morning someday,
making the beach clear