New ice: Check out this photograph for inspiration and give us your poems in the comments.
Welcome to the new issue of tinywords! Here are two haiku to get us started.
small town
one red light
Valentine’s Day
after the solstice
waiting for the light
to change
war memorial
the unhistoric fights
I fought
winter chill
wearing her grandson’s coat
at the graveside
winter stars . . .
the name of my father
of my father’s father
highway markers
how quickly the future
blurs into the past
biopsy i am my heartbeat
cold moon . . .
my mother goes
to voicemail
our memories of him
so very different
swirling snowflakes
frozen lake —
her intentions
not so transparent
winter dream—
the pond’s breath trapped
in ice
shorter days . . .
wizened grapes
cling to the vine
“Monday Morning Coffee Break” (a haibun)
two baristas
deconstruct their boyfriends
all night rain
cold winter rain
the swollen creek also
rushing home
leaf in the wind . . .
for one breath I imagine
an end like this
reminding myself
this isn’t the first sunrise
she didn’t see —
just the first we saw
without her
Kesennuma
among the sunlit wrecks
the sound of gulls
outgoing tide
the old sailor’s gaze
moves inward
bitter wind
the smell of honey
in the empty hive
wild strands
blown from an empty nest
I grow my hair long again
November walk —
settling for what’s left
of the bittersweet
(2nd Place Winner of the 2012 Robert Frost International Poetry Contest)
barely
longer than a cardinal’s call . . .
winter haiku
butterfly
under her skin
the ink takes shape
spring winds —
knowing just how
to touch you
unable to help myself rip tide
day moon–
the poem sounded better
last night
autumn mist as far as roads will reach
morning walk —
wrapped and unwrapped
by the fog
at
the
deep
end
of
the
sky
prairie
late afternoon
each tombstone
in its neighbor’s shadow
the creek
where she was baptized
sun after rain
season opener
I wheel my father
into the shade
baseball in the distance
a metronome keeping
the slow time of summer
still some swagger
in his white linen trousers
the summer wind
no fences . . .
the spirit of a wild horse
in the gusting wind
old carousel horse
a gleam of wildness
in the painted eye
grass blades
edged with frost
his apology
snowflakes all the places she was childless
gathering
dark-red roses
I trim the thorns
cutting off regrets
before a petal falls
still life class
she pours her heart
into the skeleton
clinging to work
clinging to home
cicadas
unexpectedly warm
I take off my summer jacket
feeling as if
I were back
in Saigon
ghetto building
in every window
the rest of the world
ghetto building
in every window
the rest of the world
Old men in a park
bitching about the world.
A little kid beside
dances to no music.
city loneliness
a sparrow drops
into its shadow
in this white hour
between deep night and dawn
even the wren stares
planting delphiniums
in dark soil —
the taste of rain water
foot massage
the creek gurgles
between my toes
this April morning
even the fly
primps and preens
what the crows are doing
louder and more important
our marriage
or what’s left of it . . .
fireflies
spring blues–
the flower notes
in my tea
prom night
a petal clings
to the strawberry
moonlight—
trying not to analyze
the kiss