silence stretches across the mesa raven calls my name
Author: Bruce H. Feingold
Bruce H. Feingold published his first collection of haiku, A New Moon, in 2004, and a second volume, Sunrise on the Lodge, was published by Red Moon Press in 2010. Bruce publishes regularly in haiku journals, such as Modern Haiku, Mariposa and Frogpond. His poems reflect his work as a practicing psychologist and passion for family, traveling, hiking, yoga and Buddhism.
autumn morning
my granddaughter and I
shake out the poppies
breaking waves
we talk with our children
about our ashes
may i be so graceful the flight of a swallow
zoom therapy
the small holes in the back
of my sweater
spring vineyard
stone farmhouse pockmarked
with mortar shells
a new mountain
trail in my chest
defibrillator
World Series
the crickets singing
for both teams
bare-root plum
the faith it takes
to plant a tree
summer twilight
a long fly ball settles
into his glove
ancient temple
the face of Buddha
hacked off
fire hydrant
barefooted boys drenched
with laugher
thunderheads
I can’t let go
of my argument
summer haze
the lost timbre
of dad’s voice
we live beyond us
lowering the weeping cherry
into moist soil
deep sea fishing
the boy’s bluster lost
in the whitecaps
a swallowtail
touches my fingertips—
warrior pose
the curve
of her hips—
buttercups
iridescence
of the dogwood leaf—
autumn moon
Buddha eyes—
a hunchbacked woman sweeps
the temple steps
great gusts of wind
sweep through Yosemite Valley –
autumn leaves falling
a half-submerged log
rests in an emerald pool –
waterfall downstream