Dear Reader,
Recently I’ve enjoyed writing short poems in the style of Haiku and other forms of short poetry. After a few days of writing, I noticed a theme flowing between them and started to put them together to see how they read when put next to each other. In the end, I realized I had a short chapbook of poems. While waiting to find a publisher for my next collection, I thought it’d be fun to put these poems out into the world. No rollout, no grand marketing plan, just word of mouth and good poetry. With that said April 1st, I will be releasing a short chapbook titled, Like Falling Leaves, twenty-four short poems “ruminating on everyday experience, religious discovery, and the fraught relationship between humanity and the natural world.” In the spirit of sharing I’ve included the title poem below for you to enjoy — a haibun documenting a morning writing session gone awry.
Enjoy!
FALLING LEAVES
Just as I was sitting down to write, the work crew across the street started going wild with their jackhammers. A pristine, urban morning was suddenly a noisy cacophony of endless metal pounding and loud baritone Italian voices shouting over the noise. Most mornings, it's easy to pretend that I'm anywhere else, but this morning, the city had other plans, a harsh reminder that silence is hard to come by in a city that all but idolizes noise. I looked away from my window in a desperate attempt to transport myself someplace else, but the incessant sound of jackhammers had congealed into a thick layer of sonic fog, clouding my vision and overwhelming my already sensitive senses. I looked down at the blank page and despaired. My one chance at escape, stolen, right out from under me by men in yellow hard hats and bright, orange vests. But just as hope was lost, I noticed the tree across the street. Silent and unbothered, it ignored the work crew with Zen composure, its leaves unburdened, swaying carelessly in the wind as if jackhammers and construction workers were mere figments of my caffeine-addled imagination. And then I thought to myself—if I could be as still as a falling leaf, then silence and serenity could follow me anywhere, even here, in this wild, jumping, jackhammer city.
Carried by the wind,
leaves do not concern themselves
with the lives of men.