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~ poems and photos

Tag Archives: life

Tanka by tom clausen On line

05 Sunday Sep 2021

Posted by Tom Clausen in Published Poems, tanka

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confession, insight, life, love, poetry, reality, tanka

could be I’m tired
                                                    or lost, but to close my eyes
                                                    and nod off
                                                    while the world goes on
                                                    gives me a certain peace

/

/

                                                    wind outside the mall
                                                    and as I wait
                                                    with my eyes closed
                                                    a killdeer calls
                                                    from another life

/

                                                    as I sit here
                                                    taking in the river view
                                                    I see my feelings for this life
                                                    quite like the trees
                                                    leaning slightly downstream

                                                     how ironic
                                                    coming to love
                                                    this life and world
                                                    and at the same time
                                                    letting it go

                                                    while planting bulbs
                                                    my wife unearths
                                                    a childhood cap gun of mine
                                                    I hold it
                                                    trying to grasp back then

                                                    scribbling,
                                                    that’s it,
                                                    what I do, and tell
                                                    the inquisitive stranger
                                                    who asks

                                                    what attracted me most
                                                    to the poem
                                                    had not so much to do
                                                    with the poem
                                                    but that she liked it

                                                    I asked him about his day
                                                    what he did
                                                    if he got enough sleep
                                                    and in response
                                                    a soulful look and purring

                                                    with thunder very close
                                                    our little dog
                                                    gets under my legs,
                                                    if only I could feel
                                                    so safe with myself    

     

                                                    another ball game
                                                    and she wonders why
                                                    I’m so taken by the win and lose
                                                    as if our lives were
                                                    nothing like that

                                                    on the trail to the top
                                                    my family hikes best
                                                    during the time
                                                    they combine
                                                    to make light of me

                                                    my beer gone flat
                                                    but out of duty
                                                    I finish it–
                                                    living all these
                                                    middle-aged days

                                                    just when I was feeling
                                                    there is always
                                                    too much to do,
                                                    Cassiopeia so sharp
                                                    in the autumn night sky   

 

                                                   by spontaneous consent
                                                   our subtle flirting 
                                                  has played itself out-  
                                                 our friendship will be all 
                                                  the better for this  



                                                 we work briskly 
                                                  into the momentum of the day 
                                                  a long list of what to do, 
                                                  once all there was  
                                                 was to fall in love




                                                  in the company of friends
                                                  our marriage takes on 
                                                  an air of comfort 
                                                  as we all attend to things  
                                                 other than ourselves


                                                     
it is love we all want 
and all these ways 
                                                  we go about getting it-  
                                                 how strange in my secluded spot
                                                  a stranger finds me




                                                  pushed by the wind 
                                                  at the far end of the sky
                                                  a few clouds…  
                                                 I can see what I want 
                                                  keeps changing too





                                                  ambivalence 
                                                  I believe is what 
                                                  I’ve come to sitting here
                                                  watching wave after wave
                                                  land itself




    

                                                       full of rain
                                                       the river races along
                                                       past everything here–
                                                       I can’t shake this sense
                                                       I’m living on borrowed time




                                                       watching
                                                       the smooth flow of water
                                                       over stones . .
                                                       how few of my thoughts
                                                       are new





                                                       beyond this life
                                                       that one old friend
                                                       I bump into over and over
                                                       promising that we’ll get together
                                                       again, someday





                                                        this complete enigma
                                                        of me wanting more solitude
                                                        then company in turn
                                                        on my terms
                                                        at just the right time 







                                                         wondering if this is what
                                                         my parents felt,
                                                         in their own time
                                                         seeing a better past slip
                                                         ever further behind 







                                                         all these years
                                                         in one house, one job
                                                         one town and in me―
                                                         too many changes to fathom
                                                         as I sweep away autumn leaves 







                                                         those two birds flying
                                                         so close together 
                                                        swiftly across the twilight sky― 
                                                        a certain happy sad witness 
                                                        I provide for them . . . 






                                                         that point
                                                         in the evening
                                                         when both cats are in place
                                                         quietly bathing
                                                         while I read . . .





                                                  without fanfare
                                                  I drag the dead branch
                                                  to the brush pile
                                                  another day risen
                                                  and fallen from my life 




                                                for ten years
                                                   we’ve come to this lake
                                                   for vacation— 
                                                  in the camera this year
                                                   your smile a little less






                                                   at the old parking lot
                                                   the sparrows bathe
                                                   in a big puddle
                                                  sometimes I’m so happy 
                                                  just to be here as witness






                                                  between chores
                                                  I study my hands
                                                  as if they might hold
                                                  something
                                                  I should know


                                                  to show me
                                                  the spirit of a train
                                                  I wish for one to come―
                                                  these overgrown tracks
                                                  I walk along

                                                        I keep it ambiguous
                                                        knowing full well
                                                        a defined reason
                                                        for feeling down
                                                        can be dismissed 


                                                        the envelope to me
                                                        sealed carefully with tape
                                                        on every seam
                                                        when opened, reveals
                                                        absolutely nothing


                                                        my youth spent
                                                        gathering strength and solace
                                                        of friends near and far–
                                                        these short years later
                                                        losing them one by one

homework- review- by tom clausen

01 Sunday Dec 2019

Posted by Tom Clausen in americana, Chapbooks, haiku, Haiku Way of Life, Lynx,, tanka, Published Poems, senryu, tanka

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book review, chapbook, family, family life, haiku, home, homework, life, poems, poetry, senryu, tanka, writing

Homework by Tom Clausen. Saddle-stitched, full color cover, 4″ x 6″, 36 pages. $10., ppd. ISBN: 1-903543-00-2. Order from Snapshots Press, 132 Crosby, Liverpool, L23 8XS, England.

To quote the jacket notes: “Focusing squarely on domestic life, this collection of haiku, senryu, and tanka is often funny, often sad and always paradoxically both familiar and eye-opening.” It cannot be said better nor more succinctly what this newest book by Tom Clausen contains. I can only add my continuing praise for Tom’s work. It is always a revelation and delight how he seizes on the tiniest experience, and through his examination of it and the cool observation his own feelings, carries it over into a major event. This leaves the reader wondering, “Now, why did I not notice that?” and “Why did I not think of that as material for a poem?”. It seems that tanka is especially designed for the methods of Tom Clausen. Even when aware of the smallest thing, he is also aware of how that thing or event is affecting him. This occurs even in his haiku.

While some purists might fault his haiku for not being closely enough aligned with the nature-nature viewpoint, his sensibilities are absolutely accurate for tanka. This collection gains, I think, by the inclusion of his haiku (which often portray the lighter moments of family living). They seem to play off and actually highlight the attributes of his tanka. Altogether, the editing and arrangement of the poems seems especially fine and relevant. For anyone who has grown up in a family or is living in a family now, this book will take away those terrible moments of aloneness when one felt that no one else in the world ever had such moments of doubt, despair and pure undiluted joy. Tom has been there, and he has the courage to face them directly and honestly, and to continue to hang with the feelings until he has created pure poetry out of them.

no longer me
it proves a mystery who it is
I’ve become
walking around this house
with my family there inside

I sort of knew
my coffee cup
was empty –
so much I look in it
just to see

The sensitivity of the editor, John Barlow, is shown in the choice of a drawing done by Tom’s young daughter, Emma Clausen, as cover along with the insider joke of the title of the book – Homework. Delight piles on delight with this one. Review written by Jane Reichhold

a bit of life by tom clausen

19 Saturday Oct 2019

Posted by Tom Clausen in cats, Frogpond, haiku, poems and photos, Published Poems, senryu, Tom poems at other sites

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beer, cats, haiku, life, little poems, poems, poetry, senryu

frogpond vol. 41:3  fall 2018

giving a piece of cardboard
a bit of life
our cat

corner pub
my dark stout
in a Bud Lite glass

falling apart by tom clausen

18 Friday Oct 2019

Posted by Tom Clausen in americana, cats, Gusts, mailboxes, nature, poems and photos, Published Poems, tanka, Tom poems at other sites

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cats, life, mailbox, nature, poems, poetry, tanka

gusts  no. 30

 

the world
may be falling
apart
yet my skittish cat
settles on my lap

I’m not even looking
for anything
second time out
to the empty
mailbox

bits of birdsong by tom clausen

18 Friday Oct 2019

Posted by Tom Clausen in birds, haiku, landscapes, nature, otata, poems and photos, Published Poems, roads

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haiku, life, nature, poetry

otata

pasture land-
speeding through
bits of birdsong

Why We Write Haiku by Tom Clausen

23 Friday Jun 2017

Posted by Tom Clausen in clouds, Favorite Haiku, haiku, Haiku Way of Life, Ithaca, landscapes, nature, poems and photos, sun, sunsets, Wabi Sabi

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Tags

art, haiku, inspiration, life, photography, photos, poetry, relationships, sunsets, writing

Why We Write Haiku ( this list contains alot of overlapping and was intended just as a consideration of what might be some reasons…)

to express gratitude
to report something real with honesty
to share something directly and concretely
to share and create meaning
to say something meaningful in as few words possible
to communicate
to find a voice
to give a voice to nature and discovery
to celebrate our connection to nature, to all that is non-human
to sharpen and develop our awareness as a witness
to express observable truth
to give praise
to celebrate existence
grounding and centering
transcendence
to express admiration
to identify those primordial forces we love or relate to
to feel a sense of purpose
to express our longing and belonging
love for our being here now
to express joy and happiness in a moment
to show what is lost and found
as a means of catharsis
to show the aha moment and suggest the wonder of existence
the desire to turn words into greater awareness and understanding
in the eternal search for meaning and identity
to maintain a healthy focus and awareness
to attain some levity or lightness to our being
prayer like reverence and respect for what is before us
to achieve some clarity
to reduce confusion
to express insight
to improve and gain relationships and understanding our place in the world
in hope of finding a peace of mind and heart
to have an epiphany
to reaffirm what we know but had forgotten…nostalgia for our child mind
for the practice and routine of forgetting ourselves
an alternative focus and refreshing point of view
alter-identity
as a release from what bothers us or distracts us from the poetic in our lives
as an antidote to anger
to exercise a spiritual communion with our place in this world
to commune with the muse
to attain credibility
to fulfill the searching aspect of our being here now
to recognize what is mortal and immortal in us and our world
as a form of satori and connection
because we love poetry and sharing something
because we feel inspiration in moments freely found anyplace, anytime, anywhere
because we are in tune with a universal reality
to get some satisfaction
as a path out of depression
to find ‘the way’
to see and feel light
to report natural ‘news’
to commune with nature
nurture of a spiritual relation
to join a community of people sharing a poetic point of view
to be in the now
because we believe in nature and the poetic relationships small, large and wonderful
as a means of disciplined expression
in recognition of natural nuance
to exercise our senses
to praise the life in the inanimate
to write concisely
to write what is in the heart
to find our-self outside our-self
to respond to a calling
to give voice to wabi -sabi aesthetics
to be at home on this seamless journey through the here and now

 

Sun setting in some clouds on west hill... from Hungerford Hill Rd.-east hill today 6-21-15.

Gallery

Ithaca Wizarding Weekend 2016: 4 days of ‘Harry Potter’ fun by tom clausen

30 Sunday Oct 2016

Posted by Tom Clausen in americana, autumn, close up details, Ithaca, poems and photos

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art, festivals, Harry Potter, life, photography, photos, wizards

This gallery contains 20 photos.

dragonfly dream by tom clausen

09 Sunday Oct 2016

Posted by Tom Clausen in close up details, dragonflies, nature, poems and photos, ponds, summer

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art, haiku, life, nature, photography, photos, poems, poetry, summer

here
there
dragonfly
dreams

 

 

dragonfly-red-one-in-fall-creek

cold autumn wind by tom clausen

09 Sunday Oct 2016

Posted by Tom Clausen in abandoned buildings, americana, autumn, barns, cats, haiku, Ithaca, landscapes, nature, poems and photos, Wabi Sabi

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art, haiku, life, nature, photography, photos, poems, poetry, wabi sabi

cold autumn wind
in all the cracks
eyes of barn cats

 

 

 

barn-on-west-hill

wabi sabi in the alley by tom clausen

07 Friday Oct 2016

Posted by Tom Clausen in abandoned buildings, americana, close up details, haiku, Ithaca, poems and photos, summer, Wabi Sabi

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Tags

age, art, haiku, inspiration, life, photography, photos, poems, poetry, wabi sabi, weathering

in the alley…
what  we can see
of ourselves

 

 

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