CONCRETE SEASONS, A Collection of Urban Tanka

Decades ago, a number of my haiku were published in journals such as Modern Haiku and Dragonfly. As time passed, I wrote fewer and fewer poems and stopped submitting them for publication. Since retiring in 2001, I've slowly returned to poetry. This brief book, Concrete Seasons, A Collection of Urban Tanka, is the first result, completed in 2005. With a few revisions and deletions, I have collected them in August 2009 for this blog.

Like haiku, tanka is a Japanese poetry form. I originally was inspired to try it by the books and quarterlies of Jane and Werner Reichhold's Aha Press and since then have pursued it via the Web and publications such as Ribbons, Modern English Tanka and translations such as those by Kenneth Rexroth and Jane Hirshfield.

Traditional tanka generally were love poems. Modern tanka take many different directions. Concrete Seasons is basically my personal poetry recycling project. I took a number of old urban haiku I had written and found unsatisfactory and reshaped them, usually by combining two or more, into the tanka form. In Japanese traditional tanka that form is five lines of 5-7-5-7-7 syllables. Modern tanka in English are more fluid, but the five-line protocol is usually followed. Because of the humorous content, some of these might be classified as kyoka rather than tanka.

Since these were originally haiku, they are more seasonally based than tanka might normally be. I have divided them into spring, summer, autumn and winter sections.

I hope the reader enjoys them. I dedicate this book to my wife Beverly, whose birthday it is today.

(c) Bob Loomis, Concord, CA, USA, 08-31-2009

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SPRING

This morning's rainbow
ends at the shopping center bank
but the only gold
available to us there
is our own earnings.


Two sparrows
hunt for tidbits
near the laundromat door.
Inside, a young couple
nag at each other.


The first warm day
but the bus driver
has the heater on.
Our ride becomes
a mobile sauna.


Another spring --
in the office planters
weeds sprout,
pigeons strut and coo
on the window ledges.


The light turns green
and a single blackbird
strolls across.
Two teenagers
hurry toward the mini-mart.


Even where traffic
spews exhaust all day
purple lupin flourishes.
Drivers speed past,
intent on their destinations.


In Monday morning's
sea of sidewalk faces
just one smiles back
highlighted by the sun
above the skyscrapers.


Nothing to throw
so he yells "HEY YOU!"
but the squalling tomcats
remain oblivious,
backs arched, eyes locked.


SUMMER

Late dinner out --
the youngest child
slumps, eyelids drooping,
too tired now to complain
of being hungry.


Crouching,
but not flying
from the traffic --
a city pigeon
hunts for scraps.


Bobbing carefree
in the freeway fast lane:
an orange balloon.
An aluminum ladder
clatters off a speeding truck.


At the toddler's squall,
the street mime flees
in whitefaced alarm.
Lunchtime diners
relish the drama.


Behind the front seat
the remains of last night's fun:
empty beer cans.
The car is heavy
with the odor of regret.


The slain woman's houseplants
draw admiring comments
from one detective.
Even her housedress
has a flower pattern.


Headlights at high noon --
a funeral procession
stuck in traffic.
On a bus stop bench
a young couple smooches.


Late summer sunset --
in the parking lot
children play ball.
BART train riders stare,
recalling such days.


Her truck overheated
she stops at the hillcrest
to pick wild berries
while commute traffic
creeps past.


AUTUMN

His happy pooch
crosses the finish line
ahead of the road runner.
Both hurry
to the water fountain.


Early autumn night
too hot for covers,
too cold without them.
She gets up
to change nightgowns.


Autumn's gusts
quickly fashion
new hairdos!
A child's homework
blows along the street.


Autumn night:
the rustling tree leaves
flicker the neighbor's light.
Somewhere nearby
a window slams shut.


Bamboo windchimes
clatter in the storm.
The wind even tries
to snatch the wool watchcap
off my head!


Blue eyes wide
baby reaches
for the windchimes,
then pauses to look at Mommy
for reassurance.


Batiks billow
and paintings topple
at the fall crafts fair.
Even Mother Nature
is a critic!


Taking off
in close formation
at the airport:
a flock of ducks
heading south.


WINTER

The first chilly night --
the children come in early
from their street games.
On the stove
the kettle whistles.


A brown rain hat
skitters down the street
faster than the traffic,
not even pausing
for the red light.


A shopping cart
abandoned
in a vacant lot,
one empty plastic bag
in the basket.


Even at noon
every park bench empty.
This gray day
the pigeons also
look forlorn.


Midwinter wind
but two street ladies
wear miniskirts.
Hunched forward, they walk fast
hugging themselves.


On the wet street
spots of oil and grease
take on rainbow hues.
Freeway traffic
floats on fine spray.


Black ants
enjoying the day
after Thanksgiving
dining luxuriously
on leftovers.