haiku

evening, black lava,

perched atop, yellow warbler—

a nugget of gold

Chirp

     Chirping, she expects me
     to follow her up a tree
     or under a raspberry bush.

     When she tires,
     I pick her up,
     kiss her forehead.

     A bottle of goat’s milk
     warms on the stove.
     Her chirps grow louder as she
     kicks free of the towel
     I’m using to protect
     my clothes as I hold her.
     I coo, ‘Soon.  Soon now,’
     as if she could
     understand.

     Rewrapped
     cradled in my arm,
     she sucks the nipple
     once,
     twice,
     thrice,
     then pushes the bottle away
     with five-fingered paws.
     She yawns,
     gulps,
     tries again.

     Her belly swollen,
     I set the bottle aside.
     Under the tap, I wash
     tiny hands and sticky snout.
     She nestles in my arm
     and purrs
     while I dream of the bridge
     I will build
     so a small raccoon may cross
     from my world
     back into hers.

Photo Shoot

               I step into a cooling
               pool of possibilities,
               sink into a reflective background,
               splash to shower my images
               with creativity,
               preen to remove unwanted ticks,
               and pretend my prints are pearls.

One of Them

Cinnamon-sugar sand—
light on the cinnamon—
corrugated sand
sculpted by waves
spills into my shoes.
I wade toward the surf-wetted interface
where strolling will be easier.

My visit will be brief hosted by the
heartbeat of surf
spicy scent of seawater
feathers of a breeze.

I reach down for a scallop shell.
I feel the smoothness of its pearl
and the roughness of  its surface—
gentleness inside
toughness outside
like most of us.

I stop to watch
black-bellied plovers
glean the surf
Bonaparte’s gulls
                sunbathe on a sand spit
brown pelicans
                dive-bomb for dinner
Forester’s terns
                frolic on air
and I am at one with them
until the tour bus leaves.

Hermit Crab
by Jan Haffley

Godzilla Rises

Godzilla rises from the sea

To put a scare in you and me

Until we look at pixels and see

An enchanting ghost of what could be.

Marine Iguana
by Jan Haffley

Huddling

We are going on a couple more photo shoots during May and early June.  I haven't finished all the India posts yet, so it will be a couple of months until I get back to them.  In the meantime, I'm going to post some piece from earlier trips.  This is the first:

 

 Huddling

Mousy mousebirds

with long feathered tails

cling to woody twigs,

huddled like football players

learning the next play

for blocking the evening chill.

Mousebirds
by Jan Haffley

White Ghosts

These ghostly trees may wear
cloaks of different hues—
a mossy green when rains
ride on monsoon winds
a blondish tan when dust
drifts high from dirty thongs
a hint of pink at dawn
azure blue at noon
vermilion at sunset
ashen at midnight
and white when all is well—
when Flames of the Forest burn
at their branches’ ends
and other species drop
their leaves to the forest floor
revealing ficus vines
arching from tree to tree
and clusters of bamboo
hiding jungle fowl.

These White Ghosts now stand
guard with regal air
calling for all who hear:
this forest is fit for life—
for the Bengal Tigers
and Sambar deer, their prey,
Asia’s Lion prides,
Leopards and Panthers Black,
pouncing Jungle Cats,
termite-eating bears,
Blackbuck stags, and more
who may not become
ghosts by extinction’s fate
as long as forests thrive.

                                  by Jan Haffley