Ed Markowski

that look in our eyes . . . candle moths

holiday lights the truth emerges from dad's muddy bootprints

lightning the sword swallower swallows

spring sunlight rose tinted glasses accent a black eye (haiga)

out field grass THROUGH A FILM OF SOOT AND GREASE FACTORY WINDOWS (concrete poem)

Lent

On the ceiling above my bed i pin a pin up of her naked shadow

cherry blossoms drifting down mission street three pink hookers

sight unseen

my maternal grandfather passed away on june 22 1980 from black lung … (haibun continues)

funeral procession the hitchhiker tucks his thumbs in his pockets

clear night my moon shadow settles on a white tombstone

recession rising from the factory stacks five small black b i r d s

surprise party i hang my toupee on the hat rack

prairie sunset the glow of the cattleman’s branding iron

snow melt… her lost mitten covering the crocus

spring cleaning the last mound of snow trickles down the driveway

false spring… the candidates bow in unison

a dinner bell rings & rings… evening snow

winter sunset… this sudden craving for a hand-picked peach

Martin Luther King Day… a watermain breaks on his boulevard

toll road the hitchhiker’s thumb knee high

white out… a car horn blares the yellow rose of texas

christmas eve service the boy behind me prays for another mother

the lustre of a moonlit snowman… winter begins

crime scene a cluster of crushed begonias

the x’s missing from above her signature… autumn rain

harvest moon our newborn’s cry floats above the cornstubble

reflecting pond the blind child tosses a stone

autumn rain the politician poses with a shovelful of mud

a frown drawn on the kool-aid pitcher… summer’s end

lunar eclipse i fall for the hidden ball trick

garden web a butterfly clings to the scarecrow’s lapel

midsummer dusk the splat of a water balloon

morning rush… the warbler leaves us a fragment of its song

a patch of blue on the scarecrow’s shadow… first crocus

winter reverie the faint scent of bubblegum on an old baseball card

moonshadows a rabbit emerges from the snowman’s top hat

winter moon a dusty seventy-eight sits on the turntable

Indian Summer the flip side of a hit record

early autumn rising into falling leaves a yellow finch

thunder the farmers at the credit union applaud

dad’s grave… all the flowers he wouldn’t let mother plant

hitchhiking an orange moth fills the emptiness of Texas

nude beach a man and a woman collect shells

a long fly ball arcs above the moon… summer deepens

bed rest a spider crosses the ceiling in eight seconds flat

lost in a field of sunflowers the sun

afternoon heat the slow blink of the bullfrog’s eyes

red grapes… the many hands it took to bring them to this table

abandoned stable… wild roses bloom along the split rail fence

pitching horseshoes after the storm . . . a double rainbow

birthday balloons the one that doesn’t burst blows away

planter’s moon the milk white arc of her nine month belly

zen garden the monk’s shadow the monk himself

hearth light… dad’s shadow sharpens against the frosted window

winter midnight . . . a fresh foot of snow lightens the sky

winter calmness… even on the child’s see-saw an even coat of snow

black out bright lit amish windows

after the moth… moonlight drifts through an empty web

broken cup the moon reappears in a puddle of tea

home from the steel warehouse dad’s lunchbox filled with baseball cards

Autumn loneliness the last green tomato falls from the vine

Manhattan sunset… the street magician’s first trick

sultry night… the thin white stripe left by a spaghetti strap

on the spot where the old lighthouse stood… moonflowers

midway rain the dunk tank clown dries off

midway lightning the funnel cake vendor draws his awning

friday the 13th the clang of the farrier’s rounding hammer

kite’s aloft the young boy pulls free of his father’s hand

summer twilight sampling the peaches at a roadside stand

morning moon the nooks and crannies of an english muffin

at the end of a blind date the soft clicking of our eyeglass frames

winter carnival a thin frost sparkles on the ice carver’s beard

winter moon… the hustler chalks his cue stick with a flourish

gale warning two gulls surf the waves above the lake