Landing pad, or: Helicopter seeds

A haibun

Things are changing.

I am the one who’s changing.

I created this blog in memory of my father; I spent a year mourning, praying, reflecting, researching, reading, writing; and I shared my journey with the world. Then my year of traditional Jewish mourning, of reciting the Mourner’s Kaddish prayer every single day, came to its expected end; and I stopped. But, really, I couldn’t stop creating; my mind had not stopped churning. So, I created this blog in memory of my father.

I created this blog for myself; that becomes more apparent with every passing day that I produce more poetry. My father’s birthday was January 4th; this year, I wrote nothing about it. Sure, I still light a weekly candle in his memory; sure, I still think of him; sure, I occasionally mention him in a blog post… But I am changing. I have changed, and I accept that. I accept my fatherlessness. I accept my lack of ongoing preoccupation with the subject.

Increasingly, I write poetry about my daughter.

Poetry’s for the living.

samaras flutter
distant colonization
new life needs its space

Go Dog Go Cafeโ€™s Haibun Wednesday

  • This weekโ€™s prompt is to write a haibun about a parental relationship.
  • From Poetry.org:
    • In How to Haiku, Bruce Ross writes, “If a haiku is an insight into a moment of experience, a haibun is the story or narrative of how one came to have that experience.”

Let’s write poetry together!

When it comes to partnership, some humans can make their lives alone – it’s possible. But creatively, it’s more like painting: you can’t just use the same colours in every painting. It’s just not an option. You can’t take the same photograph every time and live with art forms with no differences.

Ben Harper (b. 1969)

Would you like to create poetry with me and have a completed poem of yours featured here at the Skeptic’s Kaddish? I am very excited to have launched the ‘Poetry Partners’ initiative and am looking forward to meeting and creating with you… Check it out!

29 thoughts on “Landing pad, or: Helicopter seeds”

  1. Loved your post. Wasnโ€™t familiar with haibuns but am excited to try them out now. Yours was very pretty.

  2. A parallel path I am walking with you, David. Losing my father in 2019 motivated me to make a commitment to writing, and I have written several poems and pieces about my father, some published some not. February 14th marked the three-year anniversary of my father’s passing. I thought of him and miss him, but I was not motivated to write about him. I am at peace with this feeling and his passing. ๐Ÿ•Š๏ธ Best to you.

    “Poetryโ€™s for the living.” ๐Ÿ’–

  3. I enjoy poetry because I can resonate with so much of what other’s write, it’s for us all, and grief touches us all at one time, but then comes new life and new joy, and it’s all here on your blog! ๐Ÿ‘๐Ÿ‘

  4. Yes. This haibun explains much and yet begs the question, How do we hold onto the past while dancing into the future? For me the past is always with me and although I don’t dwell on it, it does alter my perceptions of the present and often informs my decisions for the future… sort of like wearing underwear.

  5. David, this is a wonderful reflective post. I enjoyed reading it and learning a little more about your writing journey, and I had some thoughts on the subject.

    I still love everyone I have ever loved and lost. They will always be a part of me. Probably you feel much the same way. I think it is only natural though, that your primary focus now would be on your young daughter, who needs you on a daily basis. You have hopes and dreams invested in her future, and your many thoughts about her are the inspiration for some really lovely and insightful poems. I am sure she will cherish your writing all her life, especially poems about her!

  6. I don’t think we can really make a distinction between past and present. I’m sure your relationship with your daughter contains your relationship with your father. (K)

  7. Life is all about transition, I think. Writing helps us link these phases together so we can make sense of it all, at least that’s what it’s done for me. โค๏ธ

  8. Beautiful haibun, David. I tend to agree with abigfatcanofworms on this. I find myself haunted by ghosts of the past that keep resurfacing in my own poetry, and perhaps that’s part of the reason I experience such stifling writer’s block (like I’m going through now). Sometimes those ghosts are hard to exorcise and linger far too long. For me, writing about them is therapeutic, and I do find that if I cover a particular memory/theme enough times, it silences it, at least for awhile. So, in that regard, I suppose I agree with both of you: poetry helps the living by allowing us to process old memories until we can make peace with them and move on. Regardless, I’m so glad you discovered your inner poet. It’s been (and continues to be) an absolute joy to read your work, David. ๐Ÿ™‚

      1. I could say poetry is for what is preoccupying you but it’s more than that. I find that the more I write, the more things come up. Teachers, past friends, etc. I recently lost a good friend to breast cancer. It was less than 10 months from diagnosis to passing. I have no doubt that this grief and survivor guilt will haunt my poetry for months to come. I think poetry is for the writer. Maybe that’s what I mean.

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