Category: Issue 15.2

summertime–
let the screen door
bang

 

summer sunlight
through a green lace canopy
the energy
that slips through
my imperfect plans

 

seasons repeat
we tell the stories
we are given

 

 

 

(Originally published in Mayfly 58, Winter 2015)

swapping work stories
his pint of beer
has more foam

 

 

late summer
mating dragonflies
extend each other

 

my feelings
for her
fireflies

 

that raccoon
you know is out there —
a summer fling

When we bought the house, the yard was covered in snow, but you could see where a leafless rosebush was making promises about the future, and the snow was revealing ridges

 

 

spring light tadpoles growing into their tails

 

 

 

I tell my son
it’s okay to be fragile…
basil blossoms

 

 

 

filling up
the kiddie pool
a mom’s guilt

 

pebbles in the tide
my regrets lose
their rough edges

 

The sound of a door
behind me closing
on one less summer day

 

an ice cream truck
jingles its tune
down a dead end street

 

last rites. . .
rain fading into
bird song

 

 

(Received 1st Place in the 2015 Betty Drevniok Award)

autumn wind
for the cat now, my feet
no longer a toy

autumn stars
she hopes to go
in her sleep

 

an elm
in all its basketry—
the moon

 

 

my first earrings
box elder tree
seedpods

 

beyond the protest
willow limbs
shifting with the breeze

 

 

a bullfrog
hits the lower registers
weeping willow song

 

 

dandelion clock
my grandchildren think
I’m a grown-up

 

windflower
the sun and moon
on a single stem

 

 

Forgetting how big the world is . . .
framed
butterflies

 

Dad’s old maps
a pinhole through the b
of Timbuktu

twilight
losing count
of blackberries

 

after 15 years
i find his address
in his own writing…
stargazing again
on a moonless night

a man by his mailbox
reads a letter, then reads it again—
spring melancholy

 

cataract clouds . . .
her children remind her
what she likes

 

she waves a thin blue scarf becoming sky

 

 

cloud shadows on the highway scudding a h e a d

 

 

I cycle through
cloud formations
laundry day

laundromat
a penny’s rhythmic clink
in the dryer drum

 

ending
in wind chimes—
the heat

 

breaking drought—
from cupped hands the child
tastes the sky

 

 

woodpecker holes…
the constellation’s name
slips my mind

tree stump the unfiltered full moon’s light

 

cold moon
the sound of my words
in her eyes

 

Alice in Her Twilight Years

We were cleaning out Mom’s house when we found them in the back of a cupboard, two zaftig Barbies covered in cookie crumbs.

 

abandoned house
in the window
a doll without eyes

 

 

clouds opening
the blue
of her eyes

 

clouds gone the clarity of shadows

 

 

living
a shallow life
sunfish

alpenglow the minnow slips a second paw

 

canyon stream
dried to a slit
of clear sky

 

 

 

(included in A Dictionary of Haiku, AHA Books, 2013)

 

the brittle call
of a skylark –
still no rain

 

how little
I know of bird calls
distant thunder

 

 

(Akita International Haiku Award, First Prize, September 2013)

 

 

low tones
from the dirt dauber’s nest
we speak of war

 

bare trees
the credits for the war movie
white on black

 

discarding
thirty-year-old letters . . .
the fresh scent
of pine seedlings
springing up in the clear cut

 

 

beaver
den
the
piling
up
of
things

 

 

of what
was he a hoarder
pinwheels in a breeze

 

 

 

autumn walk
my brother leaves the path
first

 

The path home –
polishing a neighbor’s apple
on my sleeve

 

how to win you back
mockingbird
from the neighbor’s yard

 

 

 

(from The Opposite of Bird, Cyberwit, 2015)

early autumn
henna
in her hair

 

 

reunion …
upon my paper boats
the raindrops

 

 

 

(originally appeared in Modern Haiku, 46.3)

 

pastas, soups
and Turkish bread
at my door …
her generous spirit
colors my cheeks

 

 

 

pastry chef full of himself

 

 

mother’s eulogy
finally I tell her
what she wanted to hear

 

 

withered chrysanthemums —
my father gives me
a compliment

 

family photograph
all our smiles
framed in a lie

 

 

 

dry leaves–
helping my father
with his death poem

 

 

shared memory—
the flutter of a million wings
in the monarch sanctuary

 

 

shrieking gull falling from a cliff this fear of flying

 

Ten times ten thousand
terrible things in this world
and still I don’t want to leave it

 

 

 

(from Dreams Wander On, Contemporary Poems of Death

dust devils
the rumble of fracking trucks
on a washboard road

 

summer drought
a farmhand’s sweat
wets the sod

 

 

 

(Previously published on Cattails, May 2015)

 

last day
of therapy
a man takes
the out of order sign
off the candy machine

 

 

talking done
the dregs of friendship
in our mugs

 

 

unfinished argument
all the thistles down the lane
flowering

 

 

 

shattered by a jay’s raw blue afternoon

 

 

 

red Martian sky
the differences
between us

 

 

runaway star
a streak of silver
in my hair

 

 

winter solstice —
the day lengthened
by snow light

 

 

sleepless —
my window floats through a thousand
                    stars

 

old train set
I unbox
my inner child

 

 

 

visitors coming
where to hide
our bad habits

 

 

 

(Included in A Dictionary of Haiku, AHA Books, 2013)

 

 

river tides where have I been

 

the deer pauses
before turning
back into mist

 

 

and afterwards
you don’t say anything
but your eyes flash
like lightning
off in the distance

 

gave proof
through the night
          iPhones

 

 

we order Cognac
I ignore how you ignore
her texts

 

 

bumper sticker
covering the chip
on her shoulder

 

solitaire
the missing queen
keeps me awake

fireweed
twice in love
twice burned

 

 

another social construct on shaky ground

 

 

Outdoor wedding
the odor
of insect repellent

 

 

after the ceremony gossiping jackdaws

 

cathedral stairs
five brides vying
for the best light

 

 

 

 

diamond ring
all the facets
of desire

u         n

  z      i

    p p

      i

     n

     g

   her

  dress

     f

     a

     l

     l

     s

 

Valentine’s Day
the palm reader’s
warm hands

 

 

final departure
after the contrail
starlight