spring night —
her moonlit zipper curves
from throat to waist
Author: Harold Bowes
Harold Bowes has been published in several haiku journals, both electronic and paper, and has appeared in the Red Moon Anthology. He edits Alba, an ezine emphasizing short poetry.
Write to him at heb at oregontrail.net.
conversation lags-
far out on the spindly branch
a withered leaf
summer drought-
next to her rose tattoo
a pale blue vein
daylight moon-
faded chalk stars
on the sidewalk
spring sky-
a toddler walks outside
in a blue cowboy hat
winter sky-
along the power line
a black contrail
business trip ending
my shadow pulls a briefcase
from the car trunk
new year
a thin layer of rainwater
coats the window
thickening clouds–
in a snow-covered field
the elk crowd together
deep in the woods–
all the shadows bend
toward home
summer birds
the rise of our baby’s chest
against mine
a year later–
in mother’s bare garden
new grass
February tides–
a trawling boat stranded
on the mudflats
early snow
falling through branches
sticks to the buck’s antlers
in the wheelbarrow
patches of rust
filled with frost
sidewalk puddle
sunk to the bottom
a red leaf
climbing through
fire escape stairs
ivy’s red leaves
the dark yard –
a few grass blades
hold the moonlight
haloed moon –
in the dark field water spills
from a silver pipe
downpour ending –
the narrow stems of fallen leaves
point to the sky
if nothing else
there are these clouds
floating away
glint of sunlight
on a wooden power pole
the numbered metal tag
swimming hole;
in the dragonfly’s embrace
a dragonfly
waiting at the curb –
mirrored on the skyscraper
a brick chimney