Issue 10.3 – tinywords

Introduction to Issue 10.3

tinywords issue 10.3 begins tomorrow.

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

October chill the silence in this shadow

homeless… a plastic bag drifts across the sidewalk

sunrise from village to village a rooster’s crow

heat wave at the big city flower market ten thousand shades of radiant yellow

migrating geese rising out of my chair

slowly two clouds collide over rush hour

dense fog the train evaporates into a distant horn

flea market~ every old watch keeps its time

moonrise moonset your nakedness

autumn afternoon– an empty shopping cart waits at the bus stop

dusk– ten thousand blackbirds and no place to park

lit fish stall open mouths darken in the night

Gogyohka

she slips into the blue haze of memory Staten Island Ferry

clear night my moon shadow settles on a white tombstone

deep breath before I enter the panhandler’s aura

election night smoke from an unseen cigar

in the distance gunshots opening the dark

a gardener on the radio smells the jasmine

where street meets sunrise– the steam

traffic jam– my thoughts still in motion

a yellow leaf describes the course of the wind

amid fallen leaves a business card still doing its job

prayer candle shadows pass through each other

haiku

I’m not a poem. I’m a dog. Respect The differences.

Pelham Parkway between the winter trees the child?s breath

morning walk at the crossroads my thoughts flow in Spanglish

in the pool of the ruined resort the wild ducks

commuter platform a harmonica blowing the freight train blues

leaving the Tokyo subway, a hundred umbrellas rise in unison

at home

bay window no matter the season drawn curtains (haibun continues…)

rooftop garden— climbing the stairs back to nature

gallery tour the ladies gaze at the dozing watchman

park bench pigeons begging the homeless man

department store sale flyers flying

hotel bar: ice shifts and shifts again.

just a flat tire chained to a lamppost waning autumn moon

dead birds at the base of the lit skyscraper autumn midnight

footprints the prairie dog stretches its shadow

deep snow … the acorn up to its cap

funeral procession the hitchhiker tucks his thumbs in his pockets

nor’easter– scent of the river rising

sheltered by the bus stop empties

Buddha eyes– a hunchbacked woman sweeps the temple steps

lovers’ moon– a cicada leaves its shell on the fence post

birthday party the new neighbor shows his tattoo

sight unseen

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

dead-end street every house but one boarded up

the writer we exchange a few words

trailing the snail on the pale gray pavement an ellipsis…

a bowed head in each bus window mountain fog

shortest day– the waiting room clock at the ICU

January thaw dog-walkers greet leashed strangers

goodbye hugs— all the places where we touch

not getting my joke but he smiles anyway– the stone buddha

juncos black silhouettes in birch trees notes on a tangled clef

cherry blossoms drifting down mission street three pink hookers

black fedora the blind man inspects its brim

corner beggar change is everywhere

tinywords 10.3 in print

tinywords 10.3 now in print. PLUS a broadsheet on haiku!