Haiku of Nobuko Katsura


the first day in spring –

a wind from the ocean

but no ocean in sight

 

wild geese –

between their cries, a slice

of silence

 

Christmas –

this sadness of being a wife

when did I first feel it?

 

wake up

in cherry blossom

white midday

 

the woman at high noon

untiringly watches

a distant fire

Nobuko Katsura was born Noboko Niwa in Osaka in 1914. She learned haiku from poet Sojo Hino, editor of the ‘Kikan’ (The flagship). Afterwards she founded the Marumero (Quince) haiku group with Kenkichi Kusumoto. During WWII, as planes bombed her house, she gathered her haiku works and fled the fire. Nobuko often wrote haiku about women and their everyday lives. She was a former editor of the Modern Haiku Association of Japan.

 

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Take What You Need, Leave the Rest Be


There is nothing placed on this Earth that deserves to be destroyed or wasted for human

convenience. To destroy tree and leave them unused simply because they blocked the view

of a garden, or to kill animals only for their fur, is not a rightful way to share the world with

another. To waste and discard something due to your own selfishness is an act that goes

against the Creator, and strays you from the Red Road.

 

Now tell me one little thing if thou has any sense:

Which of these two is the wisest and happiest – he who labours without ceasing and only

obtains, and that with great trouble, enough to live on, or he who rests in comfort and finds

all he needs in the pleasure of hunting and fishing?

– Gaspesian Chief

 

365 Days of Walking the Red Road

Terri Jean

Chiyo-ni (1703 – 1775


Chiyo-ni writings were influenced by Matsuo Basho. “One with nature” is Chiyo-ni style and she was immersed with it.

 

ah butterfly–


what are you dreaming


working your wings?

 

a single spider’s thread

 

ties the duckweed

 

to the shore

 

hands drop

 

all things on the ground – the clear water

 

on the road

 

today’s rain


the seed for clear water

 

when dropped


it is only water–rouge flower dew

 

Courtesy of Patricia Donegan and Simply Haiku

Song for the Ohlone


by Martha Robrahn

 

We have walked these hills and valleys long before your time
When the waters ran clear, the forests stood tall
The earth gave us all we could ever need
And we lived our lives in dignity

 

When the padres came into our land
We met them with a smile
We shared what we had
And we learned what we could
They came to save us we were told
Our sacred ways were not the way
To save our souls

 

In this land of the brave and the home of the free
Tell me what freedom means for me
My land is gone, my people scattered
And no one seems to think it matters
That the sacred ways we lived our lives
Are now only told through the white man’s eyes

 

We built the missions, worked the land
Toiled for days on end
When we tried to return to the life that we loved
They beat us and chained us
We did not understand
They said we no longer belonged to the land

 

In this land of the brave and the home of the free
Tell me what freedom means for me
My land is gone, my people scattered
And no one seems to think it matters
That the sacred ways we lived our lives
Are now only told through the white man’s eyes

 

And if crumbling mission records do not clearly show
Our births and deaths from then ’til now
Then the government says we cannot be
What we’ve been, who we are, the Ohlone

 

Our habitat destroyed, our numbers thinned,
It doesn’t take too much to see
If we were four legged or winged or finned
You would call us an endangered species

 

Courtesy of Indians.org

 

The Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bar Area includes the counties of San Francisco, San Mateo, Alameda, Contra Costa, Santa Clara, and most of parts of Napa, Santa Cruz, Solano, and San Joaquin.

May Haiku


A long list

 

of side effects . . .

 

winter rain

 

Plona Oblak

 

autumn martyr in the first draft

 

Cherie Hunter Day

 

gravesite

 

of Adam Smith

 

free of charge

 

Patricia McKernon Runkle

 

Courtesy of the Modern Haiku Association

Haiku of Kyoshi Takahama


willingly bitten

by an autumn mosquito

of Yakumo’s old house

 

the lighthouse is low,

prominent is the sound of

the foghorn.

 

a morning glory

reflected,

a tropical fish submerging

 

pathetic!

on the wayside,

a tomb of ’awa’ pilgrim

 

the spring

of the country where

sparrows also fear no people

 

under the moon,

walking in a disguising costume

as a certain person.

 

Kyoshi Takahama 高浜 虚子 1874 to 1959 was a haiku poet during the Showa period. Masaoka Shiki, his mentor, gave Kyoshi his pen name. He studied Edo period Japanese literature and worked for a literary magazine called Nihonjin. Kyoshi was known to experiment with irregular numbers of syllables. In 1898 he managed the haiku magazine called Hototogisu which Shiki previously managed.

Practice Forgiveness


Your journey upon the Red Road will be filled with acts requiring forgiveness – forgiveness of others and yourself. Mindfully practice this incredible act of kindness act of humanity and the Red Road will be an easy path to follow. Also, absolution breeds the same in others. Be quick to forgive and others will grant you the same kindness.

Indians love their friends and kindred, and treat them with kindness.

— Cornplanter

Seneca, 1736 — 1836