“Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms” by Marsh MuirheadPosted by Rattle
Marsh Muirhead
ALCOHOL, TOBACCO, AND FIREARMS
Haibun
The blued barrels of the shotguns stuck out over the hood of the station wagon, pointing away from the men who were smoking, the smoke rising in the breeze, drifting into the corn field. The corn stalks rustled in the breeze. Two pheasants lay on the roof of the station wagon. The dogs were somewhere out in the corn, looking for the other downed birds. The men shared a bottle in a brown paper bag and waited for the dogs.
Marsh Muirhead: “Haiku and haibun are a great place to store and flex the notions and images that come to us all the time and everywhere. They are sometimes starts to longer pieces, or as finished writing they serve as a kind of journaling, whether as fact or fiction, about our own lives or others we imagine.”
Marsh Muirhead: “Haiku are the sensory images that arrive and stay when you are open to the world around you. The best aren’t really written—they just happen as a reward for attentiveness—as in bird watching or agate hunting.” (web)
Marsh Muirhead: “We have an island in the Mississippi here, three acres of pine and birch, surrounded by the flowing river, the sounds of loons, crickets, owls. My literary and musical friends have declared it The Island Republic. In a hammock, under the influence of wood smoke and an excellent Merlot, I achieved the tranquility in which I was able to recollect the powerful emotions surrounding the situation which, then, gave rise to this poem.” (web)
Marsh Muirhead: “Haiku and haibun are a great place to store and flex the notions and images that come to us all the time and everywhere. They are sometimes starts to longer pieces, or as finished writing they serve as a kind of journaling, whether as fact or fiction, about our own lives or others we imagine.”
“Willows on the Crow” by Marsh MuirheadPosted by Rattle
Marsh Muirhead
WILLOWS ON THE CROW
Haibun
The willows whipped us along the banks of the Crow River, the wind-driven lashings hustling us along on our cobbled raft between mucky dunes, over carp shadows, boulders whose slimy beards danced in waters stenched by the adhesive plant miles upriver. She and I were Tarzan and Jane, pirate and captive, boss and slave, poling deeper into the jungle, discussing her fate—flogging, short rations, thrown overboard. Later, we drifted in the sun on our backs.
Marsh Muirhead: “Haiku and haibun are a great place to store and flex the notions and images that come to us all the time and everywhere. They are sometimes starts to longer pieces, or as finished writing they serve as a kind of journaling, whether as fact or fiction, about our own lives or others we imagine.”
