white petals-- the smell of flowers over the tomb —Israel López Balan
About the author: I'm a mexican buddhist with a jewish name and mayan-spanish last names, who writes japanese haiku in english... What a cocktailized world!
ancient lilacs cover the graves Memorial Day more lilacs than seen before sensing my parents' presence for Harold & Enola
all soul day bumping into next grave's daughter again
dedicated to a children-cemetery that I saw two years ago between Amsterdam and Harlem (Holland) chilly awake on a graveyard a teddy bear
searching for his name among the lost
Good one, Israel. In quite another vein: Memorial Day a real estate broker plants flags on lawns
polishing black marble talking to myself Grandmother isn't there
heavy spring rains last of the white petals fall to the ground
Bike ride through cemetery Flags on graves Young lovers kiss.
silver pinwheel- field of namestones- spinning.
green again... the tree that turned gold and wept in spring
memorial day the remaining spring blossoms scattered in warm winds
gotta eat to live now dontcha. lost on a sideroad i follow my nose to a whole hog bar-b-que cold mornig the scent of red eye gravy wakes me
crematorium rain drips from the trumpet lily
reading Ruth Stone's poems of loss* our neighbors' lilies-of-the-valley in bloom *In the Next Galaxy (Copper Canyon Press, 2002)
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ancient lilacs
cover the graves
Memorial Day
more lilacs than seen before
sensing my parents' presence
for Harold & Enola
all soul day
bumping into next grave's
daughter again
dedicated to a children-cemetery that I saw two years ago between Amsterdam and Harlem (Holland)
chilly awake
on a graveyard
a teddy bear
searching
for his name
among the lost
Good one, Israel.
In quite another vein:
Memorial Day
a real estate broker
plants flags on lawns
polishing black marble
talking to myself
Grandmother isn't there
heavy spring rains
last of the white petals
fall to the ground
Bike ride through cemetery
Flags on graves
Young lovers kiss.
silver pinwheel-
field of namestones-
spinning.
green again...
the tree that
turned gold
and wept
in spring
memorial day
the remaining spring blossoms
scattered in warm winds
gotta eat to live now dontcha.
lost on a sideroad
i follow my nose
to a whole hog bar-b-que
cold mornig
the scent of red eye gravy
wakes me
crematorium
rain drips from the trumpet lily
reading Ruth Stone's
poems of loss*
our neighbors'
lilies-of-the-valley
in bloom
*In the Next Galaxy
(Copper Canyon Press, 2002)