We begin our 15th year with a fresh crop of daily poems that will take us from winter well into spring, weaving in all the seasons along the way. Thanks to everyone who
Category: Issue 15.1
Before the words,
both of us trembling.
Falling snow.
winter night —
late in the Scrabble game
I draw the Q
slowly falling snow
little by little I learn
to forget you
(originally appeared in White Lotus, Issue 6, 2008)
Bukowski in bed
all that heartache and grit
between the sheets
the way words touch me
the way they don’t
we make out
of all this friction
love
(originally appeared in Modern Haiku, 42:3, autumn 2011)
long night
rolling over
the same old troubles
existence
a little
four-note song
year finally over
I scrub a ring
from the tub
black coffee
on New Year’s morning
spangles of sunlight
a dragon kite
carries the sun
in its mouth
turning the paper
to first light
lone commuter
new dawn…
outed
in a tweet
a slow day
at the window
watching
an icicle repair
its broken parts
loneliness
opening the window
to let in the rain
Mid-winter evening,
alone at the sushi bar —
just me and this eel.
(from his haiku collection She Was Just Seventeen, Modern Haiku Press, 2006)
Christmas eve wrapping a cold-stunned turtle in seaweed
bonfire smoke
we talk about
our disappointments
brittle pink coral
my underwater
memory of you
only so far
onto the beach
tracks of a wheelchair
daylight savings
what was never
ours to keep
goldfish bowl
my daughter asks
if I’m going to die
inner city building
a canvas of honeysuckle
climbs the graffiti
the calendar
in a frozen summer house
August blooms
heavy snowfall
my web traffic
increases
(first appeared in Mainichi Daily News; March 4, 2013)
the third baseman
strums my bicycle spoke
spring breeze
spring rain
the depth
of a
tulip
(Previously published in Daily Haiku; Cycle 16, October 2013.)
old palace–
the guide speaks on
behalf of the king
the slow reentry
after a week’s vacation
travel clothes
still neatly folded
inside our suitcases
wishing I knew
their language
night-calling migrants
sheepskull —
the dead eyes
of border patrol
news
of a distant suicide —
one leaf
spirals downward
toward glittering frost
dark news
the comfort
of crows
sub-zero chill
the ornithologist spends the day
on Twitter
interrupting
my self-criticism —
a cardinal
chirrups
for her mate
old snow slightly off white the state of my soul
withered vines —
stringing winter into
a rosary
stone paths the making of a pilgrim
shuffling my steps
to match the cadence
of her cane
chasing shadows we wait on news of her scan
game of life
at the end
everything
goes back
in the box
all-night diner —
scrying my future
in a coffee cup
parts unknown
the sax player improvises
a lullaby
busking —
the rattle of coins
off beat
migrating red knots
the return
of my heart murmur
rain timpani
against the downspout —
a charm of finches
the sound of water forgotten drought
a hundred miles out
the glow of Los Angeles
desert starlight
perseid shower…
someone mentions
the have-nots
exchanging money entropy at the heart of the universe
an echo
of happier times
her voice on the mixed tape
decades later
a journal she left
my unknown mother
blackbird song –
the name of a daughter
i’ll never know
in the facets
of a fly’s eye
the spider multiplies
fresh line bait the look in the pelican’s eye
box of old letters …
from a distance
the owl still sounds close
fox on the trail —
your hand held up
to my chest
Haiga
woodpecker song
luring me deeper
into solitude
in our new house
unpacking
the familiar
thanksgiving leftovers
all the things we
didn’t say
idling
on the driveway
my anger
glowing embers
the running argument
with myself
in between
your life and mine
a wilderness of brambles
divorce court —
I park near
the funeral home
jury duty
inspecting his face
in his leather shoes
vet visit a couple leaves with a collar
this vagabond life-
symmetry in the wings of
a butterfly
childrenamongtherowsofsoldierslaidtorest
(originally published in Daily Haiku, Dec 21, 2013)
daymoon
peacekeepers march
in riot gear
barbed wire
spirals
along the church wall
how long
can a robin hold its song
in autumn
my late father’s words
stirring my soul
In the Beginning
Every word fell to the ground under the weight of meaning. We held each one up to the light. Those words that made sense were like truths to us. The others,
disco band…
swirling dust motes
take the spotlight
lighting cigarettes
from each other’s cigarettes
the slow setting sun
daybreak
with the curtains drawn
my mind dark . . .
then, the warble
of a tui couple
(Previously published: Undertow Tanka Review;’ Issue 3, 2014)
her question
answers itself
moonlit sea
(slightly edited from what appeared in Mariposa 31, Fall 2014)
my brother’s eulogy
all the reasons
I should have kept in touch
mudflats darkening
the wind
freezes avocet cries
crew hand sweeping the workday back in the bay
deeper each time the summer well
(originally appeared in Under The Basho, 2014 Issue)
cloudburst …
my son adds his voice
to the rumble
hovering dragonfly
I too hesitate
now and then
oranges
on a table
icicles
in the sun
end of story
you peel your tangerine
in one continuous piece
finally
the graveyard, too,
abandoned
blackberry bramble,
bearded rhododendron —
forty years together
rose garden
old friends
suddenly old
desert sunrise
smell of rain outlives
the rain
Awake in the dark —
so that is how rain sounds
on a magnolia.
(Included in She Was Just Seventeen, Modern Haiku Press, 2006.)