Welcome to tinywords 18.1
Welcome back to another issue of tinywords.
In keeping with our spring floral visual theme begun with our bluebonnet photo prompt, our backdrop for tinywords 18.1
Category: Issue 18.1
cherry buds
the blue tit’s beak
stuffed with string
Spring rain
a sprinkle of arpeggios
from the street musician
between showers
brief intervals
of butterflies
with each deep breath
I find more of myself
in this world
the scent of rose petals
after the rain
this life
paper boats
on a stream
melting away my pain— garden dew
(from The Heron?s Nest, Vol. XV, No. 4, December 2013)
with no thought the goshawk carries a mouse to heaven
our last dinner date
the bones
picked clean
the way rain begins our second thoughts
sushi bar
making eye contact
with the koi
loneliness…
my spit draws
more minnows
he holds her hand
a tad longer than needed
bangle seller
wildflowers
the friends we make
by chance
meant for each other
this light
and the daylily
eye exam
in the dark he compliments
my retinas
(The Heron’s Nest, XVI:4, December 2014)
tilting my head
to see the rainbow
in a spider’s web
ladybug
up a stem and back
quiet afternoon
drunk?at noon
in my next life make me
a honeybee
the wind’s
distant tang
wildfire sunrise
neon motel sign —
concrete slab scoured
by desert wind
the vast west
railroad cars decouple
in the dark
commuting to work the iambs of trains
self-employed
I set my watch
by the sundial
Supermoon
the night sky
surrenders
born this way …
the orientation
of winter stars
the crunch of frost
bare branches of the oak
alive with stars
snow
its own
cathedral
All night the rattle
at the iron gate
the color of winter
an old friend
without a name
fallen leaves
my thoughts
this way and that
wild rabbits
A haibun by Jean LeBlanc
trying to put
a number on it
skipping stone
one day at a time losing count of it
my mother singing
on my answering machine
another year
changing my mantra
to a
blues tune
all the way down
to low E, the trombonist’s
eyebrows
in the space
between falling rain
and loneliness . . .
the song
that once was ours
Mozart’s birthday–
the slow decay
of the last chord
french lavender . . .
in love with a song
I don’t understand
the old blind cat
listens to the birds
morning brightness
“Webcam,” a haibun by Tish Davis.
a lone teal
circles the mallards
first school day
drive-by splash . . .
the line of pre-schoolers drenched
in delight
sea shells
a child’s summer
packed in a jar
rumors of war
I pull the dandelions
more gently
long drought
our prayers for rain
go unanswered
the one cloud on the horizon
mushroom-shaped and growing
shrapnel scars
her fingers tracing
Orion
touching your photo
the need
to mouth the words
when caught
how to release
resentment?
as wind disperses water
as water erodes stone
(haiga)
my brother’s gun
in the lock safe
condolence cards
leaving no will the wind
bee tree
the emptiness within
slowly fills
rugged hillside
the shape of the sapling
still in the tree
autumn leaves
an old window in the yard
reflects the sky
morning light
painting over
my painting
ballet shoes
in the Goodwill box
a child’s dream
autumn light
the school garden scarecrow
wears a tutu
asking directions
the uniformed schoolgirls
point three ways
opening night …
the stars arrive
right on time
sitting down to rush home subway
red eye flight
a round of Bloody Marys
before take-off
passive-aggressive
a slice of lemon
in her filtered water
summer breeze
the scent of juniper
in my tumbler
partying solo
I double dip
the salsa
resort town…
the watering hole
the locals use
lingering jet lag —
the clunk of a foreign coin
in the clothes dryer
glassy lake
flocks of snow geese
pull up the moon
(haiga)
winter sea
before refugees
beyond refugees
less water in the vase
than yesterday
nursing home
another funeral
for a childhood friend
flickering campfire
summer twilight
a long fly ball settles
into his glove
paperback romance
a bend in the spine
at the sultry part
lost love –
the snow buries
everything
another autumn
the rot reaching
into the heartwood
our back and forth
the icicle lengthens
drop by drop
late February
the last wisteria pod
drops its seed
midwinter
unrelenting
robocalls
winter rain
the dog-eared ace
shuffled back in
afternoon heat
the missing dog’s
sun-bleached poster
moonspill
on the welcome mat
an old friend’s boots
the darkness of my skin
on my soul
this stickiness
(Originally published in is/let, November 2017)
by the tiller
the sound of a dolphin
taking a breath
sometimes tame
sometimes wild
my old rocking horse
beach combing
where we made love long ago
shell shards
seeing my dentist
of twenty years
on the beach
I recognize
his eyes
summer’s end
the skin slips off
the last marshmallow