ICY WINTER DAY

ICY WINTER DAY, a haibun

I experienced winter for the first time in my life in the early sixties when I was studying for my master's degree at Syracuse University in New York.

I eagerly anticipated its arrival having been born in a tropical place. My friends from the same and neighboring countries had a wild celebration of sorts with the first flurry of snow. We gathered in the yard behind our apartments and together jumped with outstretched hands trying to catch the white feathery stuff which melted gradually on our hands. Of course that was only the first half of the story as we later experienced real winter in the succeeding days.

One morning, I knew that it would be slippery that day when I started walking to school. Across the street I saw a car move unsteadily upwards on an incline only to roll down every time it climbed upwards. So on my way to school I was extra careful navigating the sidewalk with other students. Then it happened. 

In front, a few paces ahead of me, a white American student suddenly slipped and fell down on the icy walkway. Without thinking of anything but to help, I rushed to her and offered my hand to aid her up. She started to take it, but immediately withdrew her hand when she saw the brown skin of mine. Surprised, I reluctantly left the scene and did not look back even after I heard a thud again.

icy winter day 

she disdains my brown hand

trying to help her get up

as I turn to leave

she falls down again

EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY

EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY 

by Victor P. Gendrano

      Jasmine dances the waltz with such grace that it aches my heart to watch her in a stranger's arms, she who is my favorite, my first-born granddaughter, bubbly in her recent 18th birthday debut. It doesn't seem that long ago that I was cuddling her to sleep...Tempus fugit! 

growing pains

she dances with strangers

my daughter's daughter

And now, Jasmine is bound for college. She told her grandma that she will also be an elementary schoolteacher like her. Knowing her ability, I know she will turn out to be a good one and her students will have been lucky to have her. 

end of summer

the cocoon rides the wind

her empty room

Published in World Haiku Review

Vol. II, Issue 1, March 2002

POSTSCRIPT:

True to her promise to her grandma that she will be also a schoolteacher, Jasmine has been a successful one for sometime now teaching in a  public elementary school. To top her late grandma's achievements, she is currently finishing her Master's degree in Education. Grandma Lucy and I are indeed very proud of you Jas!

PEOPLE WATCHING

PEOPLE WATCHING 

by Victor P. Gendrano

A typical Sunday morning scene unfolds before me in my favorite eatery which I usually frequent after church mass service. Seated together on the right table is a young couple evidently so much in love with each other, oblivious to other people around them while safely ensconced in their private world. Holding hands, they let their free hands tend to their food and drinks.

Next, to their left, is a father and his well-behaved daughter in her Sunday clothes, slowly munching her french fries. In between sipping her drink, she glances at her dad with an adoring and loving smile. During a lull in their eating, he gently brushes a wisp of unruly hair upwards to her child's forehead. 

On the next table are two middled aged men boisterously rummaging a found newspaper left on their table by a previous customer. One is looking for sales in a local store while the other is busy perusing the sports page. 

At the farthest table, an old couple, obviously married and used to each other's ways, are quietly eating with nary a conversation but with a happy and contented demeanor.

People watching like this is becoming a pleasant diversion for me lately, unobtrusively observing the action and flow of humanity seemingly in slow motion.

dining alone

I forgot to feel sorry

for myself

People watching

PEOPLE WATCHING 

a haibun

A typical Sunday morning scene unfolds before me at my favorite fast food place. Seated together on the right table is a young couple evidently so much in love with each other, oblivious to other people around them while safely ensconced in their private world. Next, to their left is a father and his well-behaved daughter in her Sunday clothes, slowly munching her french fries. In between sipping her drink, she glances at her dad with a contented smile. During a lull in their eating, he gently brushes a wisp of unruly hair upwards to her child's forehead. 

On the next table are two middled aged men boisterously rummaging a found newspaper left on their table by a previous customer. One is looking for sales in a local store while the other is busy perusing the sports page. At the farthest table, an old couple, obviously married and used to each other's ways, are quietly eating with nary a conversation but with a happy and contented demeanor.

dining alone

I forgot to feel sorry

for myself

Moving Day

MOVING DAY, a haibun

by Victor P. Gendrano

World Haiku Review, August 2013

watching me watch

the remnants of my past life

my daughter whispers

it's alright Dad to be sad

on your moving out

On my daughter Juliet's insistent demand that it's time for me to enjoy my retirement, I moved to a senior community place euphemistically called Leisure World. On the early morning of that first day, I thought I smelt the aroma of a freshly brewed coffee, so half-awake, I hurriedly walked to the kitchen dreamingly half-expecting a homey breakfast with my late wife.

Unfortunately, I accidentally bumped my head on the bedroom's slightly open door and felt blood oozing from my forehead to my eyes. I sidestepped to the bathroom, snatched a bunch of toilet paper and pressed them tightly over the wound. With my right hand on my forehead, I used my left hand to dial for help.

A paramedic examined the wound and, obviously to lessen the gravity of the situation and put me at ease, he proclaimed with impish grin and studied flair that it was only a cut and no stitches are needed. He then cleaned, dressed and bandaged my head wound, while softly humming a tune.

Blurting repeated thanks while escorting him to the door, I glimpsed a shaft of early morning light gradually piercing and bathing my sleepy neighborhood.

no time nor place

could weaken the memory

of my first love

Sold house

Sold house -

Lingering a bit, my kids had to literally drag me out of the house which I sold but has not yet been occupied by the new owner. Earlier, I begged them to let me see our house for the last time. I had to get rid of it due to the passing of my wife with most of my children out and living on their own. Also, it was emotionally draining for me and I could not stand and bear to see, feel, and relive the decades of memorable experiences living there.

for the last time
I listen to the laughter
of my growing children
echoing from the rooms
of my just sold house

Lotus Festival

Lotus Festival

  

Not many summers ago, the annual observance of the Lotus Festival in Echo Park, Los Angeles, California was a mild disappointment, to say the least. The reason? No lotus flowers in the lake for unknown reasons. 

Considering that the reliability of their profuse blooming every summer is as certain as the traffic gridlock in the vicinity, visitors from within and outside the area were vocally disgruntled. Locals were at a loss on how to explain to their out-of-town friends the absence of the floral attractions.

                no lotus flowers
                in the murky water
                global warming here?

Published in World Haiku Review, August 2014

MOVING OUT, revised

MOVING DAY, a haibun

Publsihed in World Haiku Review, August 2913

watching her watch

the remnants of my past life

my daughter whispers 

it's alright Dad to be sad

on your moving out

On my daughter's insistent demand that it's time for me to enjoy my retirement, I moved to a senior community place euphemistically called Leisure World. On the early morning of that first day, I thought I smelt the aroma of a freshly brewed coffee, so half-awake, I hurriedly walked to the kitchen dreamingly half-expecting a homey breakfast with my late wife.

Unfortunately, I accidentally bumped my head on the bedroom's slightly open door and felt blood oozing from my forehead to my eyes. I sidestepped to the bathroom, snatched a bunch of toilet paper and pressed them tightly over the wound. With my right hand on my forehead, I used my left hand to dial for help.

A paramedic examined the wound and, obviously to lessen the gravity of the situation and put me at ease, he proclaimed with impish grin and studied flair that it was only a cut and no stitches are needed. He then cleaned, dressed and bandaged my head wound, while softly humming a tune.

Blurting repeated thanks while escorting him to the door, I glimpsed a shaft of early morning light gradually piercing and bathing my sleepy neighborhood.

no time nor place

could weaken the memory

of my first love

MOVING DAY ADVENTURE

by © Victor P. Gendrano, Jan. 25, 2013

         February 1, next month, is the first anniversary of my moving to this retirement house. On the early morning of that first day, I thought I smelt freshly brewed coffee, so half-awake, I hurriedly walked to the kitchen dreamingly half-expecting a homey breakfast with my late wife.

         Unfortunately, I accidentally bumped my head on the bedroom’s ajar door and felt blood oozing from my forehead to my eyes. I sidestepped to the bathroom, snatched a bunch of toilet paper and pressed them tightly over the wound. With my right hand on my forehead, I used my left hand to dial for help.

         A paramedic examined the wound, proclaimed it was only a cut and no stitches are needed, then bandaged my head after covering it with medicated cream.

                  time and place

                  only deepen and strenghten

                  my first love

In search of happiness

Like Basho with his walking stick, I roamed the rocky hills in search of inner peace which alas, my world failed to give. (That is another version of my earlier haiga in search of happiness which is somewhere in my file). Then I found an open gate to Happiness land beyond which I can see clumps of flowers inviting me to come in. Amidst the blossoms with their resident bees and butterflies, I found peace and serenity that salved a wounded soul. I stayed there as long as I can and before leaving, I took this picture to remind me that I am not dreaming...

A dog's tale

LORNA AND LOLA
a dog’s tale

Yesterday, my daughter requested me to accompany her to a friend’s house about two hours drive from our place. Before returning home, I invited her to dinner at her favorite Thai restaurant close to our house where she enjoyed her favorite dish with tofu and exotic drink. That’s the least I could do for her, I thought.

Psst, tomorrow is her birthday and I plan to bring her to Hokkaido, a new Japanese seafood buffet in Long Beach, one of only two locations in southern California. So this morning after my workout in the gym, I bought her a petite succulent house plant with gorgeous red flowers which I put in her room to surprise her when she comes home.


she could not bear to look back
and hear her whimper again

nor see her mournful face once more
begging for a warm embrace

she gave away her dog Lola
to her friend for adoption

Chinese ink painting haibun

Saturday, February 20, I participated in a Poets on Site reading highlighting the art works of Hyunsook Cho displayed in the Gallery of Contemporary Art at the Paciific Asia Museum in Pasadena, CA. Her works, “Sketches of China: Works on Paper” were on exhibit in the museum from January 6 to February 11. Sketches present the artist’s re-interpretation of traditional Chinese ink painting in different media - watercolor, gouache, graphite pencil and dried leaves collected by the artist in China. Members of the Southern California Haiku Study Group wrote poems, either haiku or habun, on their favorite painting. Here is my haibun or prose poem with Hyunsook's painting.




No matter where my restlessness and sense of adventure lead me in my travels abroad, the call of the tropical sun proves irresistible, beckoning me home to a familiar place where I grew up. The venerable and ancient mountains always bring balance and sense of power in my life. In their shadows, I am refreshed and strenghtened to face life’s challenges once more.

in majestic display
the China mountains
of my childhood

Japanese Garden Ginku Walk

Today, Sunday, February 1, 2009, I attended the Southern California Haiku Study Group (SCHSG) for a Ginku walk and haiku workshop at the Japanese Garden in California State University, Long Beach. Since I was late, Chizuru (above) graciously guided me where the meeting was.

Her smile is so captivating that I took her picture and wrote haiku poems for her. Maybe next time, I can request her to remove her sunglasses before I take her picture, that is, if there’s another chance.

end of winter
the glimpse of spring
in her smile

Victor P. Gendrano

Runaway Son

One dreary autumn morning I went to the YMCA for my twice-weekly exercise. There staring at me from the door was a big poster with a boy's picture. It is a wanted sign with the parents offering a monetary reward for the safe return of their 14-year old runaway son.

I was so touched by this sad incident which kept haunting me that later that day, while waiting for lunch at my favorite eatery, I wrote these poems at the back of the sales receipt. This is an example of a poem that wrote itself.

First I tried a haiku:

a broken bat lies
in his near empty room
their runaway son

but I needed to expand it a little bit more, so I wrote a tanka:

autumn chill
a broken bat
and busted ball crowd
his near empty room
their runaway son

Parting words

last gasp of summer
she called me
not to see her anymore


She couldn't bear to tell me face to face, that's what I thought when she phoned me not to see or call her anymore. Pressed for an explanation, she firmly and regrettably, yet unhesitatingly, reasoned, "I don't want you to get hurt." A flood of memories unfolded before me then - our happy trips together, dining out, and that unforgettable night with her in an Indian casino, gambling and frolicking the night away.

That was a year ago, today. We never saw or talked to each other since.

2008 Haiku Anthology

On Sunday, August 24, 2008, at 2:PM, the Haiku Anthology 2008 by the Southern California Haiku Study Group, titled "above the tree line" will be launched at Pacific Asia Museum, 46 N. Los Robles Ave., Pasadena, California. It will be followed by poetry reading by the authors, book sale, and book signing. Everyone is invited. More information is available here:

Southern California Haiku Study Group

There are 30 member poets in the anthology. Included in the new book are my five haiku below. I also have a haiga (picture poem) and a haibun.

graffitti wall
the rain uncovers
a poem

sleepless night
I touch gently
her empty space

waiting room
the plastic flowers
always in bloom

handicapped parking
he pretends to walk
with a limp

hot autumn day
a leaf curls
into itself