Pelé: A Tribute in Haibun

Edson Arantes do Nascimento (aka Pelé) was, arguably, the most famous man in the world during his lifetime.

Kings and Queens and Presidents are famous because they are kings and queens and presidents; historic figures are famous in retrospect, their achievements echoing through time; and artists are famous due to the enduring appeal of their work.

But Pelé, whose presence at a nearby match initiated a two-day cease-fire in an African civil war, took ephemeral athletic skill and transformed it into something eternal. Something celebrated on every populated continent of the globe – even a, then (1970’s), soccer-averse North America.

Pelé, forever
charging down a pitch… the ball
and goal approaching

By David Edwards

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Time Capsule

A child digs up a time capsule, fifty years old, buried when their school was built. Inside, various items, mementos of that time, plus a postcard, lightly stained:

childish handwriting
offers the future greetings
author’s fate unknown

By DJ Tyrer

“The Rising Moon”

On the toffee patio stones—breath white smoke, a personal mist. The road before you over a short brick wall, capped in slate. Gentle chatter from inside, the occasional car shuffling past. You breathe in deeply—air like mouthwash, fresh and lightly minted, with a core of ice. A lone runner, grunting over the hill, goes by, shorts and hoodie and luminous sash, and you exchange knowing nods. You look straight up—the clouds in purple fjords, the stars set in distant lakes of aether, a half-moon rising above this pub which they indeed dared to call The Rising Moon—and knowing all is well in the universe, you can at last go back inside and finish your dessert.

between country clouds
stars pop out and say: “hello”
and I always blush

By Harris Coverley

Walk

Walking to the vaccination centre, along the heights known locally as the Cliffs, my leg begins to ache, protesting after the ease of lockdown.

Choppy waves paint sea
White splashes on grey canvas
Breeze caressing skin

For a moment, I am distracted, transported, then my leg twinges again and my mind is forced to refocus upon my destination.

By DJ Tyrer

Self

Learning to love yourself is not necessarily a narcissistic ego trip. It is for some a survival method, a means to self-acceptance in order to avoid tipping over into total madness, that edge before you like a curse enkindled by your own fears. (Or is this exactly what a narcissist would say?)

that time of the day
fingers locked around elbows
him in the mirror

By Harris Coverley