over the rise
most likely
more goldenrod
Category: Issue 03
Alone
the cell phone on her bed
rings
“Barnes & Noble” —
in all the round letters
bird nests
desert wind
the potter’s fingerprints
impressed on an ancient urn
water colours
the artist dips her brush
into a stream
three sparrows bend
the top of the young pear tree
looming sunflower
the still pond
a frog jumps in
Gulp!
cicada song
the bandshell
empty
howling wind
the red kite
sprawled on the sandy shore
clouded night
faint stars surface in the bow wave
boulder
the rock art
of lichens
hailstones
click on the window
tv snow
Sunday afternoon . . .
I help my neighbor
take her top down
my grandfather’s portrait
recognizing that look
in my daughter
crash
the bicycle wheel
still spinning
rain at last
the white egret dances
through the shallows
long summer day
two little girls looking up
through the leaves
shaft of moonlight.
the silence between us
atop the lifeguard’s chair
the crane
highsteps carefully
a shaded marsh
life model
performs
stillness
outside the hospital
the nurses take a drag
moon almost full
late summer
descending into her jeans
a celtic tattoo
summer fun
folds up in a truck–
ferris wheel
sudden rainshowers-
the street vendor changes the sign
RED ROSES ON SALE
after the rain
tall grass drowning
in puddles
white cat
in a window–
almost a statue
lake by the hotel
canada geese
spend the night
tightrope walker
even her smile
balanced
maybe a dozen
so I eat them slowly,
black raspberries
my old school
the water fountain
much too low
Labor Day weekend
the faded Hula-Hoop
in the weeds
misty eve
a neighbor’s dog
gives a long howl
backyard sun shower . . .
the windchime song
changes with each cloud
as I undress
the knotty pine
all eyes
Shop window –
wide-screen TVs show
war scenes
yellow leaves…
I search for
a tennis ball
moonlight in vermont
haiku in the sycamores
moonlight in vermont
from across the crowded dining table her laughter
in silence
we toss out bread crumbs
for the ducks
summer afternoon . . .
the first drops of rain
on my bare feet
end of summer
pelicans fly lower
over a wave
already the geese
honking Vs overhead —
morning chill
face into the wind
dodging a spider’s loose thread
and its pine needle
near the cannery
a whole apple orchard
in one rail wagon
after the bang –
on the lake surface
falls dead silence
gray autumn sky —
the blackbirds
turn and turn
october night-
chatter of frogs
in the school pond
cold autumn rain
the red EAT sign’s
soft neon hum
autumn rain . . .
a leaf has curled
into its shadow
blue smoke travels
down the red rock canyon–
echo of a train
reed cutting –
the stream together again
after a rock
the cool air inside
the terminal rests on me
when I say farewell
furnace man –
his soft grumble
as he tunes the boiler
in the night
the seller of roses returns
ascending and creaking
hearth fire burns low
a wind-blown twig
scrapes the window
in the gutter
a discarded cap collects
swirling leaves
remaining heat –
footprints to and from
a sandcastle
reading something
in the autumn wind
dry leaves
autumn fish market
all in a line
eyes toward the sea
floodlight catches
two masked thieves
through the rain
in the dust
under my bed
a lost blindfold
lighted fireplace
between each log
shifting darkness
autumn sapling:
all twelve leaves
orange
who can tell
from which tree they come
autumn wind
still can’t sleep
standing in the driveway
the gibbous moon
on the table
where the book sat
a clean spot
light morning frost
fills the old footprints
in the concrete walk
small talk
a few leaves
remain in the trees
wild fires . . .
only chimneys
in the culdesac
enjoying autumn stillness
the measured clatter
of my clogs
stormy night
— lightning
outlines our bodies
end of autumn —
finding myself
in a field of thistle
after the argument
in the kitchen, gouging out
the potatoes’ eyes
kitchen skylight
in my lunchtime soup
moon & noodles
bare cottonwoods
in wind streaked sky
last spring’s nest
cold wind
through the el station;
the old bluesman’s harp
after the winter rain
brown garden
drips with birds
chopping block
cook and cod exchange
a long look
full moon–
all of the cats on the roof
appear white
winter moon
the sea laps
at old tide marks
December morning
my neighbor ties blue balloons
to her front porch
x-mas ornaments . . .
a jolly buddha
bends a branch
winter fog
no snow
on the ground
on the birches,
as if for them alone —
silver moonlight
corner of the house
so sharp the cut
wind shrieks
early morning
the tips of the evergreen
touched with light
stars on my coat
from the winter sky
evening sky –
on the village roofs
falls a dark snow
counting breaths
or not counting; cockscombs,
poets come and go