Category: Issue 16.1

leaving
the wayfarers’ chapel
moonlight

full moon
a path across the river
only one may walk

 

a river’s song
darkness settles first
in its stones

Easter Sunday
a For Sale sign leans
into birdsong

 

grace . . .
the one whose eyes
are opened

 

strawberries…
all she knows
of spring desire

wildflowers . . .
great are the affairs
of bees

late show on TV —
I finish cleaning up
for the cleaning lady

 

as if
I’m royalty —
blossoms beneath my feet

spinning
a carousel
of postcards
I see my town
as a tourist

 

 

 

(originally appeared in bottle rockets, #32, Feb 2015)

small town where I grew up
a rusty penny on the tracks

sepia tones
the way they spoke
back then

family reunion
forgotten
in a locket

 

old friends . . .
the garden fading
into twilight

visitor sign-in
the unrelenting cheerfulness
of daffodils

 

hospice bed
each breath
a lifetime

Illustrator

The oaks turn gold, glorious with loss. Fate and light seem the same. And on this warm November morning I wonder where and what my late sister is. Does she

snow on mars tonight earth’s flaming arrow

 

           (for David Bowie, 1/8/47-1/10/16)

 

 

(originally appeared in Roadrunner 8.4)

drifting stars
the blues song
deep in me

 

lightning then thunder
the steel strings of the guitar
hum

mirage
we walk all day
into the future

old pond
   oil slick rainbows
      slip in

 

pear blossoms
another parking ticket
for my stolen car

finally at peace
with my pear shape
stone buddha

 

 

falling behind
the serious hikers
wild raspberries

adopted —
at the river’s origin
I quench my thirst

 

 

(originally appeared in Bottle Rockets #34)

Caribbean cruise getting away with all these people

 

king sized bed
room enough
for separate dreams

 

thunder in the middle of his dream diary

 

 

all day rain
clicking my pen again
and again

 

 

Writing is Like Fishing, Which is Like Love

The waves keep coming and going. Cormorants and terns. Too many to make a moment of. A heron steps like a feathered

 

paper dolls —
she tries on
her mother’s voice

 

 

conversation with my daughter
a ribbon of honey in my tea

 

all the kids
on my lap
top

 

 

passwords
the family pet
lives on

 

family reunion —
the camera timer
goes off too soon

 

kneading flour–
I fold into
myself

 

 

 

(originally appeared in The Asahi Shimbun, January 15, 2016)

 

plates clinking
in the dishwasher
evening sleet

 

a few words
from the doctor
crows on snow

 

living alone
in the blizzard
of forgetfulness …
snowflakes obscure the world
outside the nursing home

 

 

winter light
the kindest
of strangers

 

so much expected
of the red snow shovel
              unless it rains

 

Piazza San Marco
the snow falling
in my selfie

 

sugar snow
sifting through evergreens
empty nests, full

winter winds…
the scent of apples
in empty baskets

 

Slow-falling snowflakes
the black queen captures
another pawn

 

 

mushroom cloud
before Los Alamos
just a shape

 

ruined mansion
 the gate still stands
  but not the fence

 

in the pond
the face of autumn
rippling

 

all hallows’ eve
my skeleton awaits
its night out

age
the altered landscape
of my dreams

 

old vagrant his ring of sparrows

 

 

old journal
 a stranger
  to myself

 

midday sun
the fence’s shadow
switching yards

 

seed catalog
the colours of
a winter daydream

landscape

 

A few strokes to complete the mountainscape. Darken the clouds and smudge the trees with my little finger. Something is still missing…

 

half

out of silence the piccolo player’s bright red nails

 

drowsy afternoon…
the bangle-seller’s call
the length of an alley

 

 

 

(Previously published at The Heron’s Nest, June

Orion’s belt
the darkest part
of the path

Perseid shower
I fall
with every star

(This haiku won Honorable Mention in the 19th Mainichi Haiku Contest)

 

drinking tea
our hands orbit
the cups

 

working overtime
the scent of fried onions
in empty takeout

 

 

 

dory crossing
the light labor
of a gull

 

lilac blossoms
weighed down by steady rain
commencement day

 

 

her plait in step with her hips a string of jasmine

 

 

 

(First published in Bones, an e-book in PDF format by Kala Ramesh and Marlene Mountain)

 

wolf whistle —
she runs her ringed fingers
through her hair

taking root
in foreign soil –
wild rosemary

 

 

headphones from one hemisphere to the next

 

thunderheads
I can’t let go
of my argument

a dragonfly pausing the wind

 

 

 

the bee sting
of bourbon shots-
grandpa’s hidden whiskey

A Week

 

A week after her son passed away
she finally found his favorite movie
and sat down in front of the TV.

to infinity
and beyond
low tide

campfire
I disappear
with the moth

 

 

pooling where the creek bends fish

 

the last trawler
leaves the harbour
moonlight quivers

evening zephyr —
the earth turns over
in sleep

ground swell
the day moon draws closer

first stars…
I turn the sand out
of my pockets

private beach
the kids build
an ivory tower

abandoned beach house
slowly the dunes
move in