Stop

Thirty-five and still I travel as I did when I was a child. Head pressed against the cool of the window trying to ward off the carsickness rising within. Asking Dad to stop the car when things threatened to boil over. Mum having to give up her right to the front seat for my spot in the back. Watching the world swerve by in a mess of green as my forehead bumps lightly on the glass. Twirling my hair between finger and thumb, something my husband says I still do when tired. And what I used to do while sucking my thumb for comfort not so many years ago. 

rain-filled
this forgotten shoe
at the path's end 

Contemporary Haiku Online October 2013, vol 9, no 3

Persistent Rain

bone marrow biopsy --
through my internal tears
a doctor talks
of the persistent rain
on his summer holiday

Kokako 19 (September 2013)

Thankfully all my treatments (and related procedures!) for leukaemia ended a year ago this month. Although I'm still considered high risk, a label that will stay with me for life, I have remained in remission for three years now, so all is looking good. I have also finally completed my collection of haiku and tanka that explore my journey through this experience. It is now with some very generous readers, and then I hope to enter it in the Snapshot Press Book Awards.

My work has just come out in Kokako, A Hundred Gourds and A Fine Line. I've recently had work accepted for Skylark, Presence and Contemporary Haibun Online. And have submitted work to The Heron's Nest, A Hundred Gourds, and the Australia-New Zealand Haiku Anthology. Now I'm getting my entry ready for the Kokako Haiku and Senryu Competition, as well as making haiku cards to take to the fair. Collaborations are still continuing, with Seanan Forbes writing haiku and tanka for some of my photos from Fiji. Never a dull moment!

Don't forget about the Svetlana Marisova Memorial Kukai 2013 (closing September 14th), which marks two years since Sveta's passing from cancer.

waking 
from a dream --
on my lips
I find the word
arohanui*

*Maori for with love/deep affection
RIP Svetlana Marisova

Pot Holes

traffic jam . . .
watching the pot holes
fill with rain

Kernels, Spring 2013

Alone Again: A Haiga With Cara Holman

(click on image to enlarge)

Lyrical Passion Poetry E-Zine

hair ties

When I first returned home from the hospital, I didn't really notice them. They were just a part of the normal clutter of home. Not something that needed my attention. But as the days moved on and I sunk back into my life – half the old and half the new – I started seeing them everywhere, and it made me uneasy. Eventually the snippets of tension they were creating, the cracks they were prising open within my coping, meant they had to go.

I went around the house collecting them, one by one, and putting them in a clear plastic bag. How did I ever need so many? One on my desk, one on the coffee table, one in the bathroom, one on the dresser, one by my bedside, one in my handbag...

I put them away in the back of a cupboard. It would be a good 18 months before I'd need one again.

the rain quickens

i should have known

there'd be tears

Contemporary Haibun Online, January 2013, vol 8, no 4

First published in Kokako 17 (September 2012)

Song of the Heron

Painting by Tash Shackleton

This painting by Tash Shackleton was inspired by my haiku below, and done for the When North meet South exhibition, now on at Ballamy's Gallery, Dunedin.

 taking shelter

from this rain, too

grey heron

Organiser Ruth Arnison brought together haiku poets from the North Island and artists of all kinds from the South Island to create this unique fundraising event. A percentage of the proceeds of all sales goes to Ruth's amazing Poems in the Waiting Room project.

My Anger

between the rain
and my anger ...
magpie song

zwischen dem Regen

und meiner Wut ...

Elsterlied

Chrysanthemum 12 (October 2012)

Haiku & Photograph by Kirsten Cliff

Translation by Chrysanthemum Editorial Team

 

The Broken Latch: A Rengay with Aubrie Cox

The Broken Latch

Aubrie Cox & Kirsten Cliff

rain ripples

across my skin

fibromyalgia

finally home

I sink into tears

sunlight slips

between the bedroom

blind slats

no moon

my sleepless night

of silent prayers

thoughts tangled

in the thickening fog

lost butterfly

the broken latch

on this pill box

Published in Kokako 17 (September, 2012)

This rengay was written from our shared experience of living with the chronic illness Fibromyalgia.

Surrender

August 20th NaHaiWriMo prompt is "surrender", provided by Chrissi Villa. 

no wind today

the chimes hang limp

and I watching

...And one from my hubby today, too, Cameron Elliot:

treatment ends
the sky yields
a burst of rain

Find out more about the 31 Different NaHaiWriMo Prompters for August 2012 here.

The Night He Left...

                    the night he left...

                    the many sounds

                    of summer rain

DailyHaiku Cycle 12 (November 2011)

Haiku & photograph © Kirsten Cliff

 

Dream Catcher: A Rengay With Cara Holman

Dream Catcher

Kirsten Cliff & Cara Holman

crosswinds

struggling not to recall

last night's dream

the morning sky

filled with rain

drifting fog

where does the dream end

and I begin

dream catcher

I tell myself what

I want to believe

across dandelioned fields

a hawk's shadow

river reeds

weaving daydreams

into stories

Published in 'fox dreams' - a Yay Words! project by Aubrie Cox

Under the Rain

          under the rain

          of cherry blossoms

          a rusting pickup

Notes from the Gean, volume 3, issue 2

Haiku and photograph © Kirsten Cliff 2011