Bryan lives with his family in Southern Illinois and has degrees in art and education. He has been studying and writing the Japanese short poetry forms since 2012 and been published in many fine journals and anthologies. His first book Fish Kite is now available on Amazon and the Cyberwit website.
View all posts by Bryan Rickert
3 thoughts on “”
re:
Hiroshima Day
hydrangeas
bent low
—BRYAN RICKERT
An interesting decision to forgo the definite article and have the bluntness of the phrase:
hydrangeas
bent low
and not…
Hiroshima Day
the hydrangeas
bent low
Visually, the shorter lines one by one until there are only two, and then none, is highly effective.
***
In Britain I remember hearing what I thought was the sirens for a nuclear attack. Out of fear I realised I could do nothing in the ten or twenty minutes I had left.
The time was the very small hours between night and morning. I lived above a shop that I managed, and for the year I was there, I never heard the sirens ever again. Was it a misfire, perhaps from an antiquated factory? Who knows. I just know that appreciated the view over the Bristol docks with what I thought was one last time, and saw so many stars, like the backdrop here.
It was comical that I saw this, just one car on the street…
almost two wheels
the car squeezes around
the siren’s sound
Alan Summers
Publication credits: Azami #54 (Japan, 1999)
As if from a B-movie horror or science fiction film.
I can't help thinking how the hydrangea flower head echoes the shape of the mushroom cloud. Here they are bowed, as if at the memory of such devastation…
re:
Hiroshima Day
hydrangeas
bent low
—BRYAN RICKERT
An interesting decision to forgo the definite article and have the bluntness of the phrase:
hydrangeas
bent low
and not…
Hiroshima Day
the hydrangeas
bent low
Visually, the shorter lines one by one until there are only two, and then none, is highly effective.
***
In Britain I remember hearing what I thought was the sirens for a nuclear attack. Out of fear I realised I could do nothing in the ten or twenty minutes I had left.
The time was the very small hours between night and morning. I lived above a shop that I managed, and for the year I was there, I never heard the sirens ever again. Was it a misfire, perhaps from an antiquated factory? Who knows. I just know that appreciated the view over the Bristol docks with what I thought was one last time, and saw so many stars, like the backdrop here.
It was comical that I saw this, just one car on the street…
almost two wheels
the car squeezes around
the siren’s sound
Alan Summers
Publication credits: Azami #54 (Japan, 1999)
As if from a B-movie horror or science fiction film.
warm regards,
Alan
I can't help thinking how the hydrangea flower head echoes the shape of the mushroom cloud. Here they are bowed, as if at the memory of such devastation…
marion
Hiroshima
the shadow of a tree
in the old wall