Cardinal Directions.

---

‘Cardinal Directions’ is a short series of Haibun Poetry. Part of the Japanese poetic tradition, they start with a paragraph of a story, followed by a relating haiku. The 'space' between the story and haiku signifies a deeper message of truth.

---

東

Azuma

Grey Wolf, wearing the long scars of battle, trots down a stony forest path lined with javelin like pine trees which are hardened by the onset of winter. Looking up, shaggy fur ruffling around its face, Grey Wolf peers at the snowy intersection. Where the path splits into two opposite avenues, a maple tree proudly bends, casting a patchwork of hazel and auburn light on the pearl white ground.  One stubborn rose sits between gnarled roots and looks back at Grey Wolf until it cries the last of its petals. Hesitantly, Grey Wolf continues his journey, though the sunken stalk pulls the lone soul into its orbit. Grey Wolf’s wet nose nuzzles the wilting flower, burying it in snow. - “Owwoooooo!” - Grey Wolf turns to see a brown, shaggy contender, baring its gleaming and youthful canines. Slowly turning his head left, Grey Wolf stares longingly down an untouched, snowy lane. Finally, slanted azure eyes lock with their aggressors, Grey Wolf’s left leg wilting as it rose. 

Proud pollinator, 

queen of the hexagon waits

protection and death. 

北

Kita

Pale toes stroke their calluses on layers of muddy straw as sweaty hairs brush a rusty iron gate. A polished bald head reflects the stench of a despairing environment and heavy-set steel clambering into an abrasive lock. Both old chrome and weathered bone twist into a click to face new and poignant directions. The lined face nods towards black creased robes bidding holy men to rise. “I’m not ready yet,” Monk croaks from his mattered bedding. Waited boots press forwards. “I’m not ready yet!” Prisoner screams. Wide hands dart downwards. “I’m not ready yet!” Rapist wails. One strained pearl cocoon wiggles and writhes as it stretches across dead space to the applause of once great men. Flesh squishes between gaps in the marked corridor feet keeping pace with their captor under a back curled like a foetus. Hazel eyes meet unforgiving illumination to the sound of squinting oak. Crows circle tall maple wood and their empty macabre stockings. “Why hasn’t God made me ready?” Monk whispers. “It’s you who wants to be away from God,” Lord replies. 

Leaf bends over ant, 

extra mandibles assist

unity persists.  

西

Nishi

Droplets cascade on a baby blue cap and bright purple rucksack. Billy shuffles on a bumpy plastic seat. A paternal and hairy arm knocks into Billy’s torso, invading his personal space and refusing to retreat. While Billy shuffles away from the offending limb towards the edge of his seat, a high-definition print of a beaming old woman pierces his consciousness from behind a pinewood pulpit. Staring across the sun stroked field to his right, Billy notices a bright red bird with an emerald tail gliding through the still air. That looks like fun, Billy thinks to himself as he stands up to head towards the mismatch of bright pigments. -Thud- Billy falls to the ground as a hairy arm crosses closed borders. “Show some respect, your grandmother is dead,” Hairy man orders. “How can I show respect anything if I haven’t caught the bird?” Billy responds. 

Dreaming of duty, 

soiled cloth stretches on dust

hanging sheets flutter. 

南

Minami

White envelope falls through iron fangs, tapping a dusty carpet lightly as it collapses on its side. Black boots pace down moss covered concrete, signalling onlooking smokers from the balcony above. White socks sit below pasty knees, the scarlet sack over a hunched back bouncing with the enthusiasm of the day. “Oh, no. I don’t feel bouncy,” a green dinosaur in the hands of a small child yells. Urine-soaked steps echo through the grey walls, accompanying a depressed abandoned sofa and suicidal windows. A tremoring finger pushes one chrome button, unlocking the final balcony. “Oi! You got a cigarette bruv? Oi! Why aren’t you fucking talking to me! Cunts die for less round here you fuck.” The words ring as the puddle of blood builds. It’s OK. I was only a postman anyway, Postman thinks.   

Bird pecks at grey rock,

shadows stretch across amber

flower longs for bees.