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a moment of grace ( haibun ) – Daily Moments Sept 17/17

Parminder struggled thinking of her upcoming battle against the man who had  assaulted her. He was well known and a successful professional..  Parminder was a mere insect caught in the web of this vicious spider.  He was there to stomp on her to rid society of this nuisance.

She wept on the phone as she spilled her sadness and  anger to her friend. “I am only female!  I am a just an immigrant!  I am trash that society cannot even look at;  I disgust them.”

“Her friend listens.

“How can anyone amount to anything when she has been groomed in garbage since she was born?” She cries for the child who was abused since she was young.

Her friend waits until there is a pause, then responds.

“What about the flower that starts to grow from the bottom of a pond in the muck and rises above the muddy waters, blossoms into a magnificent lotus?  Did it not come from sludge? What about the beta fighter who thrives in mud puddles?  Is it not admired in Western worlds for its beauty and endurance?  The world does not always know where beautiful and resilient people come from.”

There is nothing more precious when two people sharing a moment of grace simultaneously.

butterfly flutters
fanning its wings on her hand,
my cheek tickles


222 words

This is longer than the required 150 words at Heeding Haiku for Chèvrefeuille but it is a true story about despair and hope.  Also since it totaled 222 words and my mother’s numbers were 2 and she was born June 22nd, I knew I just had to share it.

Daily Moments September 17  2017  A moment of grace  Haibun

little prince (haibun)

Photo Challenge #71, Habitat, July 28, 2015


The little prince would wake up before the servants so he could watch the sun rise. He would run out into the field, such a little tyke of only five and sit crossed legged in the darkness and wait. The sun peeked slowly through dark clouds and he felt the ground tremble under him …a steady drumming until the sun shone on his face. He heard singing in a language he did not understand but the voices came from children he could not quite see. He imagined cherubs smiling and floating around him…he remembers Mother showing him images of these “angels”, she called them.

He would run back home and climb back into bed and pretend to be asleep when Mother came in to kiss him good morning.

“Come, child, it is time for your singing lessons.” He jumped out of bed so excited to learn more. His spirit seemed to soar when he sang. The lesson lasted three hours and for a child his age it was like an entire day. The rest of the day he went out to play in the field with the children of servants until sunset…

At that moment he would run away from the children to his special spot he usually sat early mornings and looked at the sun dip into the horizon. The trembling was not there, the singing was not either, only the faint sound of a flute that seemed to cry softly bringing tears to his eyes as Mother Nature bid him good night.


morning sunshine
earth shudders…`tis time
message in the glow
enchanting chorus echoes
communion of their souls

© Tournesol’15

Written for Photo Challenge at MindLovesMiseryMenagerie

Where do babies come from?(haibun)

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I had stopped working six weeks prior to giving birth. The six weeks at home with my son was a nice transition before his sister arrived. He would lean on my huge tummy and asked me earlier on in the pregnancy how the baby got there. He was only 2 and a half. I knew you could tell children the truth about many things and they would retain what they could grasp…make it simple, I was often told. And so I told him that Daddy had a seed that he gave to Mommy to make the baby grow in my womb (tummy). “How did it get there?” he asked. I explained that Mommy and Daddy kissed and hugged each other very tightly. He seemed to be satisfied with that.

Two years later my step-father had passed and my son felt sorry for my mother being alone. “Nanny,” he started, “You should have a baby so you won’t be so lonely.” She explained that she had to have a husband to have a baby. He responded, “Well, I could give you my seed from my testicle and you could swallow it and then you would have a baby.” My mother was SHOCKED but we always got a kick out of that cute story of pure kindness and innocence.

pure and natural
lovers kiss

© Tournesol ’15

MLMM – Heeding Haiku with HA

flowers or snow (haibun)

(c) Clr '15
(c) Clr ’15

This should be fun although  I love both kigo words  snowflakes representing weather my part of the world and the sunflowers being admired by my Aussie friends….lucky Sandy, Jen and Michael, I will write on both.

Snowflakes are pretty but when they stick to your lashes and the cold wind makes my eyes weep, well, it’s a dangerous combination, that’s all I’m saying.   Tonight I walked home in the bitter cold at minus 27 C and who knows with the wind chill…I was prepared with extra warm socks in sheep skin lined boots (Saute Mouton), layers of wool sweaters under my warm coat,  Gortex glove and mittens, cagoule under pilot hat and eternity mohair scarf…but my cagoule kept slipping leaving my face exposed to the frigid air.


on my lashes blind me

slipped on ice


frostbitten cheeks

snowflakes adorn the trees

fancy a sunburn

The sky was clear tonight with the odd cloud splashed here and there on that navy canvas and I knew it was the last night to savour this full moon.  I had to take a glove off my right hand to take a few photos with my smartphone since it works only with the heat of a hand….click, click until I could no longer feel my fingers…that was my warning to head into the warmth.  It was so worth the cold hand. The moon smiling down on me was as if my mom was somewhere nearby.


This summer I hope to take more advantage of just relaxing and reading outdoors.  I tend to carry my tablet everywhere to write….but by a lake or pond would be  a nice change.  I look forward to that, and sitting a garden of daisies or sunflowers…or both!


summer read

sitting  by the pond

sunflowers grow



become a part of me

 nom de plume

(c) Tournesol’15

MindLoveMiserysMenagerie with Heeding Haiku with HA

angling (choka)

Bastet`s Library

rocking on water
wobble on old St Lawrence

tremble with north winds
still, push forth on this journey

angling trout and pike,
a rare catch this time of year

wobble, swaddle, rock
feel a need to be out here

pikes biting blindly
frigid waters skew their view

holding rod in wait
the wind blows, eyes well in tears

my boat keeps rocking
whispering tale or two

this cold skews my mind
shaking such thoughts free, I trawl

embracing my life
know now, certainties are naught

shadow squirms below
a pike! first catch of the day

wiggles to get free
smile at my startling game

trust life’s mysteries
unexpected brings such joy

time to moor safely
catch the riverside sunset
ends sublimely my journey

(c) Clr '14 Sunset on the St Lawrence
(c) Clr ’14 Sunset on the St Lawrence

(c) Tournesol ’14

Mindlovemisery`smenagerie BJShadorma and beyond

mask of neutrality (tanka)


men and women
stripped of their human rights
heads must be bare
government jobs lost,
cow behind neutrality

© Tournesol ’14

To read more: National Post

Prompt: Heeding Haiku with Ha – Human Rights

Road Trip (sedoka)

When I lived in Toronto the first few years, I would drive down to my home in Quebec which was a 6 hour drive. Leaving in the morning driving east, I would follow the sun all the way to Montreal. They were long trips alone, so singing with the radio blaring was the only way to stay alert.

(c) Clr ’14

single girl road trip
driving back to the country
winter wind at my back

chasing golden sun
singing old high school songs
on that long lonely highway

(c) Tournesol ’14

BJ Shadorma & Beyond at MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie

North Star (haibun)

November is often a dark morbid month for me. I find I have to get accustomed to the lack of warmth as well as the loss of colours, bare trees and shorter days announce more darkness. All seem so desolate and depressing. But then winds pick up, cool the air so much, clouds once heavy with rain turn into lovely snowflakes.

Soon the earth will be covered in carpets of white; I don`t feel the sunset at four so discouraging now for the snow gives light. It is pleasant walking on the snow covered ground, hearing the crunch of my boots on the spongy snow. We are less than one month before Christmas and now, finally, I am getting into the spirit of the holidays…Christmas meaning so much more than gifts and decorations but the spirit of a rebirth and giving; the sharing of love and warmth among friends and family.

winter stroll
looks up at the milky way
snowflakes on her lips

Christmas Eve
sylphs gather in concert
shaping snow sculptures
scheduled with the North Star
welcoming the messiah

(c) Tournesol ’14

Heeding Haiku with HA at MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie

a lost race (cherita)

© Clr ’14 Ghost Bike – Montreal


at the break of dawn
beware of the traffic

cycling through the viaduct
competing for space
a cyclist lost the race


loss of a cyclist

a sister mourns her sister
a mother mourns her daughter

a city of cyclists and citizens
form a vigil for Mathilde Blais
a ghost bike hung in memory

© Tournesol ’14

Montreal Gazette:  Death of a Cyclist

Written for BJ’s Shadorma and Beyond at MindlovemiserysMenagerie

montgolfière (haibun)

Photo: Hot Air Balloon Shadow by Snupi2001 @ Deviantart.com
Photo: Hot Air Balloon Shadow by Snupi2001 @ Deviantart.com

Every August there is a festival of hot air balloons in Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, called Festival International de Montgolfières. The first hot air balloon was developed by the brothers, Michel Montgolfier and Jacques Eitienne Montgolphier from Annonay, France, in 1782.*

Our family lived near this St- Jean. Hot air balloons depend mostly on calmer winds, 10 miles an hour or less. Therefore just after dawn or late afternoons near dusk generally have less wind speed.  We would sometimes see a shadow cast over the field behind our house during dinner just before sunset.

It is always a thrill to see them up in the air when they take off as a fleet with the varied burst of colours in the sky. Last year I stopped on the highway to look at five balloons floating over Mont St-Grégoire. Such a calming effect when they float over you and you can hear only the puffs of air blowing into the fabric of the balloon.

 In this prompt of Heeding Haiku with HA at MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie, we are given two words, chestnut (autumn) and balloon (spring). What came to mind was the festival a month before autumn. August is considered early autumn.

L’ombre d’une montgolfière

plane au vent doux du mois d’août

mulot fuit le chat

© Tournesol ’14

August wind casts

shadow of a hot air balloon

mouse dodged the cat

© Tournesol ’14

 * History of le mongolfière