Category: Issue 16.2

  ascension — sunlight through the wings of the shad fly  

  one cicada becoming another deep summer    

leaf among leaves — what the moment is

inside the body of a bird the song opens in my life how can there be a summer’s end  

as if lost it wanders through the canyon— autumn wind

on canyon walls, red shadows of ancient ancestors—I take your hand

  rock walls the river shapes no designated god

  river depths an osprey clutches water  

fish ladder that jump the heart makes

in a dream the apology I never gave  

“Ex Officio” a short haibun by Angele Ellis.

  thick dust the life we lived in other rooms

emptying her house all our resentments packed away    

she swings her cane as if it could cut flowers she planted and now cannot name . . . inside, a cousin seals another box

  showing my daughter how to cartwheel Indian Summer

drying laundry — the faded colors of twilight

  after sunset mountains become the sky a muezzin’s call       (originally appeared in Frogpond 38:3., Autumn 2015)

lifting my gaze to the last of the light chickadee song  

the blue pine’s gnarled roots — autumn loneliness

hunter’s moon darting through the forest pines  

burning bush what to become when I’m old

B positive even my blood type full of advice       (originally appeared in Modern Haiku, 45:3)

advised to deadhead the columbine I hesitate recalling cutting remarks never forced me to bloom  

moonlight thinned to a single strand– and still no word         (originally appeared in Not Asking What If, Muse-Pie Press, 2016)

ball four a pop can snaps & hisses  

  traffic stop the neon buddha tries to claim diplomatic immunity  

stop light a beggar feeds on traffic

Upset over news of refugees fleeing war and poverty I create one more wiping away the spider’s web       (originally appeared in What Light There

night of ghosts bumping in the bare branches the lost kite             (Included in A Dictionary of Haiku, AHA Books; 2nd Edition, 1993-2013)

on the battered pier old men fishing for ghosts

frost in the air … this urge to rake again the ashes of autumn  

  history hobbling across the cobblestones  

    Going online to hear the hermit thrush sing – why it no longer comes to this hill one sad reason or another

  everything the mockingbird says with its tail  

  election day kids in the schoolyard playing tag  

  first kite learning to read the wind

  boundary fence the sunrise snags on barbed wire

“Ceasefire”, a haibun by Paresh Tiwari.

November fog in the crowd an old friend without a name  

first light touching the arm of the housebuilder    

“Elegant Lady,” a haibun by Tish Davis.

  twilight blackberries stain the beard of a goat  

rain puddling in the hollow of a salt lick the cow’s rough tongue

  tea cools the conversation heats up  

  meaning what i don’t say ellipsis    

  wordless i fill in the blanks with wildflowers  

sunlight glistens on a small blade of grass each poet passes along the fire in dew drops winking     (Included in A Gift of Tanka, AHA Books, 1990)

the whole day how to write it… hummingbird hawk moth     (Included in Beyond My View, Endion Press, 2011)

first encounter a glasswing enters our renku

regardless of its name ditch lily  

one way or the other… sunflowers  

an ice cream cone shaped by her tongue sultry evening

  the touch before we part mimosa leaf  

night pond – the Big Dipper full of leaves       (originally appeared in Cattails, May 2016)  

early frost our first fight over nothing  

“Climate Change,” a haibun by Angele Ellis.

skipping stones… the weight of father’s words  

getting bigger the hole in my story

  after the monsoon a light rain apology  

liquid sun our glasses filled with dandelion wine

  the wine opening up our conversation  

  “I’m married …” ice cubes shifting in her wine glass  

  3 minutes to midnight… the barkeep tends to emptiness

switchback . . . adding another stone to the cairn  

  its name painted out the ghost town water tower  

  deep winter a boy in the fountain collecting wishes

music how it gathers the lonely       (Included in A Dictionary of Haiku, AHA Books, 2nd ed., 1993-2013)

Lilies of the field — what the world calls doing nothing

new wellies Christopher Robin tags along  

  bike rental I pedal my way back to childhood  

  the part of town th at us ed to be h er e

  winter beach wave after wave of memory

  beach littered with shells the ocean whispers in vitro

final prognosis different clouds on the horizon

  mourning no one else at the all-way stop

birthday cake a slice for everyone in the hospice

summer picnic the ants start with dessert  

“Hanoi Warms Up,” a short haibun by Marietta McGregor.

the hammock back in shape summer’s end  

dark passage the winter inside me

barefoot on linoleum the moonlit square even colder

snow the city in quiet chaos

snowbound . . . down to the last cup of birdseed

river’s edge around the merganser’s body ice thickening

April snowflakes rearrange hometown memories in the lineup I wait for a brand new permanent resident card

the cat not home . . . apple blossoms falling

blossoms . . . the dog leap-curves toward the frisbee       (originally published in Frogpond,Vol. XXX, No. 2, 2007)

deep breathing — i drift by the flower kiosk

museum of fine art boxcars

art studio an empty frame frames an empty frame  

had i stayed where i started clear sky

  if only happiness were easy paper flowers rearranged in a waterless vase

  drought the struggle legible in leaves  

day moon a world about its business

  spare change found in his pockets . . . this too short life

closing time a stepladder holds the last light