Road Home Haibun

Hello Poetry Friday!

First an update for friends interested in Pat Valdata's book, Where No Man Can Touch. You may contact Pat through her website contact link. If you have trouble, pm me for her e-mail address. 

I've been traveling with family. It's not travel where we go out to do...it's more long-distance sisters and brother, parents and grandchildren gathered together with good food, a pool and plenty of sitting space. 

This summer I've enjoyed Sarah Donovon's monthly writing challenge on her blog, Ethical ELA. A recent challenge was to write a travel tanka....which reminded me of a recent spate of haibun I'd written for Laura Shovan's Februrary (but this year, March, birthday writing celebration) and mean to get back to for revision.

See one of many definitions here: https://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/haibun-poems-poetic-form

These beautiful photos on twitter of  my hometown prompted this haibun & tanka.

Twitter photo July 17th

Road Home

     It was done. Blaisha was several days into her journey, recalling events that led to her victory. Gran’s death had been the start, she thought. If Gran were still alive she wouldn’t have left caring for her to travel so far to the king’s court for the contest. At Gran’s burial, Alwin told her of the court's prize offered to the story teller that could best ease the king’s downcast mood and raging headaches.

     Blaisha had cared for Gran with herbs and stories these last three years. She believed she could sooth the king given a chance but the walk to court was days.  After the funeral, a unbearable silence pushed her to pack a bag and tie her sandals.

     By the time Blaisha was announced, His Majesty had listened to hundreds of stories. His royal head hung and doctors surrounded him with goblets of wine and handfuls of medicines. Blaisha walked forward, bowed low. A courtier asked for her story. Blaisha looked directly at the king and asked after his home, his mother and his first sweet love. 

     As the king and Blaisha talked, courtiers grew annoyed. Girl, come now, tell your story, demanded a noblewoman . But, the king held up a hand. Blaisha listened and spoke, spooning responses to the king’s questions as honey. Finally, the king look up and smiled. Miss, I feel so much lighter, so much better. Thank you. You may claim the prize. Courtiers were baffled. The royal accountant stammered about needing time to arrange for the bag of gold.

     Now Blaisha held up a hand. Please, Your Highness, kind sirs and madams. I do not want gold. I ask instead that the hill on which I live and the valley below where I’ve buried my Gran be mine forever.

     It is done, declared the king.

Blaisha then turned to walk the days home to her valley where the hills met in celebration.

                          a road less traveled

                          threads through field to hill to sky

                          reckons each mile

                          kindly shade tree and cloud

                          that walks a traveler home

Photo from Twitter July 17

                         clouds bring news of rain

           .             to blue hills with summer sky

                         the pond laughs loudly

                         unafraid of storm or sky

                         summer’s blue paints its face

Our Poetry Friend and Teaching Author, Margaret Simon is hosting this week's round-up at Reflections on the Teche with an original poem and stolen title! Stop by for some cool summer reading.