Two tanka published in British Haiku Society publications

tanka (written below) with my name underneath

My writing, editing and submitting have slowed down considerably as my brain energy has been consumed by work. One of the challenges of chronic fatigue is brain fog and it’s been very foggy in there outside of work! However, this month I had tanka published by the British Haiku Society. The first in the latest Blithe Spirit journal:

scrolling
for pictures of joy
outside
unpruned rose branches
create puppets in the wind

Alison Clayton-Smith, Blithe Spirit Journal p. 35, vol. 33, no. 4

This describes the absurdity of those times I’m looking at photos of nature on social media to make me smile, and then I look up and watch the rose branches moving against the window across from me. Both give joy but only one creates a sense of peace and grounding.

The second tanka appears in ‘Change’ the BHS Members’ Anthology 2023:

tanka with my name underneath

last night
I thought of friends
lost
spinning fibre
into yarn for you

Alison Clayton-Smith, Change BHS Anthology 2023, p.97

Occasionally I get my spinning wheel out to spin plant fibres into handspun yarn for projects that might happen one day. As I was spinning this time I thought about the alternative meaning of yarn, as a story, and how spinning often features in the old myths and tales. And then there are all those stories of friends, and especially for me, Bobby, that we want to hold on to after they’ve gone. There’s this fear that we will forget the stories and that would mean the final end of a relationship. When Bobby first died I bought a notebook to write down all the stories about him but the notebook remains unused. I think partly because I’ve realised I’m unlikely to forget the ones that matter, but also, like doing something final with his ashes which are still sitting in my wardrobe, it would feel like a letting go that I’m still not ready for. My blog’s title ‘And then there were stories’ reflects this idea that once our loved ones, events or days have passed, often all we are left with are the stories. Furthermore, this tanka reflects the fact that as I spin I get lost in my thoughts.

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Wednesday 25th January 2023

Today is neither sunny nor frosty. The good run has broken but it is warmer and the birds’ water does not need defrosting.

There is much tweeting and cooing and other sounds of the sky. Doves, woodpigeons, blackbirds are busy flying or resting.

The dampness of the aftermath of frozen times makes the garden seem weary, worn down. My eyes focus on all the brown, dead and dying parts of the garden. Without the sun they seem even sadder. But as geese honk their way overhead, I remember that this is the cycle. Without death there can be no birth. All the brown will become food for the new life. And even before then, it serves as shelter for insects and other creatures. Let the imagination see what life there is here. All things have a purpose.

Monday 12th December 2022

We have snow! My first thought is how much Bobby would have loved today. Being a Tibetan Terrier he was built for snow. It’s a year this week since he died which makes it sadder. I walked a brisk hour’s walk to the Post Office and tried to imagine he was running around behind me, sniffing and kicking up the snow. It’s not the same without him and that present moment joy he lived in.

Usually the snow makes things more peaceful, less cars out for a start. Only we were woken about 6:45am by our neighbour attempting to get his BMW turned round and away. It must have taken him several goes over half an hour at least. Most cars would be annoying but being turbo-charged it is of course really noisy, so the day did not start peacefully.

I remembered to pour hot water on the trays of frozen water for the wildlife. The woodpigeons were out as always, plus a jackdaw. The fields were alive with huge groups of birds, possibly starlings. Not much seems to deter them.

It was a lovely walk. The snow still deep and white mostly, not yet trodden into a brown mush. I hope Bobby has snow where he is and that he has his ‘snow paws’ on.

Sunday 11th December 2022

The ground is frozen and the air is shaded by fog. It is meant to be -2.5C today. I have walked 45 minutes across hard rutted ground to a new cafe outside the village at the top of the ridge. I am sitting in the warmth with my coffee and cake looking at frozen trees.

En route you would think I would have seen little life but there was a tiny Muntjac deer grazing in a frozen field, a happy little farm dog, and a couple of not impressed horses in their paddocks. Only one human in the far distance, like a scene from a Victorian London horror. A black blob surrounded by mist.

This morning I couldn’t even break the ice in most of the containers of water for the birds. I must remember to pour hot water on the frozen water when I return. There were a few birds around, the well insulated Woodies and a Jackdaw.

It is hard to remember how mild it has been this autumn/winter now that the frozen times have descended. I hope that all the plants and creatures who were unseasonably out are not hit too hard by the change.

—-

On the way back I find a decapitated bird, a starling I think, on the path. I pick up the still soft body, it must have not been there long, and bury the soul under some leaves, adding a nearby pinecone on top. I wish the little feathered one peace. And then back in the woods I spot a deflated metallic blue helium balloon trapped in the lower branches of a tree. I tread carefully off the path to remove it and when I reach the village, place it safely in a bin. I don’t want there to be any more deaths on my route today.