Tossed Pebbles, Living Words & Images has 144 pages filled with haiku poems, some matched with colour nature images in the Haiga tradition (a painting with a haiku). The book has high production values with glossy art paper and a strong flexicase cover with French flaps. It’s size is 7″x 7″ and the cover is laminated. You are invited to see samples below. A backgrounder on haiku, juxtaposition and Zen is on the Articles page. “Ayres” surname was an earlier pen name and I’ve since reverted to my birth name. Thanks for your interest.
Price: $22.95 USD
Alternative ordering: please go to Amazon
Excerpts are below.
Wind Rippling, Living Words & Images is another production by Roderick J. Stewart and PhotoHaiku Press. It is currently available in eBook form, and a print version is being planned.
Wind Rippling comprises three sections: Aphorisms with photographs, Haiku with photographs, and Vignettes which combine photographs with a short narrative and haiku.
It is 8.5″ x 8.5″ in print format.
Price for download: $5.99 USD
Excerpts are below.
Fish moving water
water moving fish
spirit of art
Ever so slightly shifting
axis, winds of autumn
captain points the way
with a toothpick
Beach fires smoke into the night
an ember pops in two
a single sound
Wordless breath of night
in window frost
The more brilliant the light of truth, the more pronounced the shadow of subterfuge.
To be what you are is to love god. To do what you are is to love life.
The wise person balances somewhere on the high wire between asking too many questions, and not asking enough. Knowing that the high wire at each end is anchored in a fool’s domain, their biggest problem, then, is in answering their question: how did I ever get here in the first place?
On the window between you and the less fortunate
allow compassion to form patiently, in beading dew
dressing the pain with tears
never so full they fall
never so small they fade…
for you know, in looking closer still,
each bead reflects as well as magnifies
sound of autumn
if I could heal
I too would meander
pierced through her naval
turning reps into perfume
Sitting in my wheelchair in the easy access far away place they put you at the McPherson Theatre, I watched Oscar enter the stage. He was unassuming, not at all showy. A little nod to the audience and he sat on a simple chair. I liked him already. His two musician friends began that soulful flamenco Latin fusion and Oscar turned up a bright note into a voluminous evening of searing rhythm and heated staccatos. The damp winter night inside me was tickled loose and dissipated in the sun of a place I had never been to, yet I knew it to be so.
the notes of your soul
dance darkness into light
No Where Like Home
Late Sunday. For this P.I. an empty car park is a strange world. This mind-deadening cement, the exposed electrical veins—buzzing lights like white blood corpuscles, security cameras, fans, shielded conduit, it’s an uninspired grey matter. Yet somewhere in the design was a spark of light. Junia walked light-footed through the parking garage her head up, her face serene, confident, familiar. She floated along in a world within this world. I wasn’t paid to follow her. Six months ago, when I was doing another PI job, she just appeared. And here she is again! She moves from light to shadow to light again, each flicker of movement like a flash of light from a window. It’s not like a case file where I could close my thoughts about her. It’s more spell-like, my need to bask in her aura, wanting to do things for her so she’d reveal herself, her secrets. Can you see her?- the unpainted face with great beauty in the eyes. Grace, knowing. I think Junia went up the stairs. For a moment I lost her, but that happens when you forget to think like your subject. So, I shuffle down the stairs, letting her go, moving into a trance-like receptiveness until the minute hand sweeps her again onto my screen. In the photographs I took she never appears. Her blonde hair has dissolved in a triangle of sun. Her figure has disappeared into impenetrable shadow. Not one picture. Yet here she is. Right here. Looping through my mind in fragments. There’s her smile as she waits for me to notice her. A flicker off. A flicker on, and off again. I don’t have far to find her. And my only regret is that, earlier in life, I never had the insight to recognize her.
Girl asks sensei a question
Sensei looks south
as geese fly north.