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Peter Newton

Passages

I’ve been reading from an inherited library of poetry volumes and spiritual writings that belonged to an old friend. He lived a decidedly monastic lower-case life. A one cup, one bowl, one spoon kind of guy. His death, while not untimely, was unexpected—perhaps even by him. He left neither spouse, child nor will , so his belongings fell to his only sibling, who was somewhat estranged. She relied upon a few of her brother’s friends to help clear out his sparsely furnished apartment, which we did over two somber weekends of relative strangeness.

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oak         oval
portal

In reading his books I discover something new about my friend: how earnest (one might say obsessive) he was in his reading practice. He marked up the margins of his books, circled words, and underlined whole paragraphs. Sometimes in different color micro felt-tip markers. The kind that bleed a bit if you hold the nib against the page a moment too long. My eyes track through the words toggling between the typed text and his scribbles. For a while we are having a conversation.

an open door
for the wind's company
old habits

About the Author

Peter Newton is the author of several books in the Japanese short form traditions of haiku, haibun, and tan renga. His newest book of haiku is The Space We Open To (Red Moon Press, 2020).

3 thoughts on “<strong>Peter Newton</strong>, Passages”

  1. I miss my friend vince.
    I still think of reaching for the phone . . .
    what else can be said.

    a cicada slows
    to silence . . .
    news of his death

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