Category: Issue 18.2

a glimpse of deeper seas tidepool

bougainvillea blossoms
following the wind
to the beach

evening cool
the beachcomber’s
cloudy eyes

 

the big questions
remain unanswered
i deadhead the petunias

 

kudzu
those things
we neglect

 

mosquitoes
their own version
of birdsong

 

old songs
I gently scoop a cricket
from the tub

 

early autumn
the deepening taste
of the well water

sweet melon
a wasp and I
have seconds

Indian summer
the cat and I chasing
the same fly

shallow pond
a muskrat swims
through the sun

 

first raindrop
on the lake
the monk’s prayer gong

I saunter
deep in the labyrinth
the stillness of autumn

straight talk
we come to a fork
in the road

 

her hand
on my wrist
moth dust

hospice
the head-tilt
of a tulip

bus stop languages
good-bye
we all understand

first steps
a toddler trips over
a fallen leaf

 

fall leaves cover the base path home

October dusk
the quiver
in a robin’s tail

crimson rosellas –
how many years since
I whistled?

evening clouds
in no hurry
this baseball game

 

among the raindrops
sharp nods
of the pansies

 

the shell
of a farmer’s stand
October rain

rolling hills . . .
autumn settles differently
on each one

 

downsizing
sunflowers blooming
in a bronze vase

 

no more politics
dead-heading
the day-lilies

morning fishing
we circle around
the same subjects

 

silence
the white space
around your poem

       amid the stones
of the soldiers' cemetery
           edelweiss

 

 

(second prize 21st Mainichi Haiku Contest
International Section)

civil war cemetery
the flower holders
empty

 

a minaret
sharpened by moonlight
distant gunshots

 

fish tank
the four corners
of the world

as I plan my day
an ant travels the globe
of the peony bud

 

more questions than answers driftwood

late autumn boiling the color from frozen carrots

 

black friday
two crows tear
at a plastic bag

 

bills due–
in my dream
the endless stairs

 

 

all-night laundromat
my pyjamas toss and turn
in the dryer

long nights
of absinthe drinking
what’s left of the moon

daymoon
a bullfrog’s
big gulp

pizza night
teaching the grandkids
card tricks

 

puberty
we take turns touching
the electric fence

wedding vows
a watermark
on the hardwood floor

feathers caught
in the chain link fence
another miscarriage

 

The Alchemy of Grief

Some of the tears he whittles into fine points. Those are good for gouging out his eyes. Others he distills. At night, blind and drunk, he pretends

forest fire smoke
dominates the sky —
the lost
dominion
of birds

 

news of a poet’s passing birdsong

 

late autumn
mother’s walker
now mine

orchids
on her tombstone
my shadow

 

day break —
my dog wakes up
shaking off yesterday

cat collar
the little bell
rusted silent

morning cool
the street piano’s
silence

the ants
all fall in line
city life

 

winter night
crickets
on the sound machine

 

night without sleep
a boat slips
its moorings

bare-root plum
the faith it takes
to plant a tree

filling the field’s expanse
with its slenderness . . . .
tufted blue gamma grass

 

separating
night and day
comma moon

fireworks –
bare branches
fracture the moon

 

New Year’s dawn…
cranberries
for the mistle thrush

new year’s day regifting my mother’s meds

 

a grid of white squares
on the calendar
doing life

 

editing a line
 the cigarette coal's
  precarious length

 

paging through
another evening
deep winter

all the trappings
of a privileged upbringing
hothouse tomato

winter storm
the winding heap
of apple peel

scrolling through old friends’ accomplishments winter stars

the ins and outs
of a social network
–ant colony

 

so real
these plastic flowers-
my butterfly mind

 

winter’s end
an old man’s cough
in the crow’s caw

the line
to his IV drip
morning glories

once a school…
tulips line
the hospice drive

 

 

 

 

(Previously appeared in The Betty Drevniok Award, Honorable Mention, 2018)

eraser dust
the touch and go
of perfection

 

winter moon
dad’s watch
in my sock drawer

soft rain
on mountain wildflowers —
my mother’s voice

monsoons begin   with each day's rains
    the hills turn greener   greener

 

 

Originally appeared in beyond the horizon beyond (Vishwakarma Publications 2017)

summer day
the fisherman
catches a wave

midsummer lull
the ants
regroup

sultry night
slack spun into the line
of spider’s silk

 

late summer
what the cicadas insist
I know

 

change of trains
a busker hurries through
the minute waltz

 

moon shadow where the singer takes a breath

daffodil shoots
parts of us emerge
from hibernation

 

 

 

 

 

(Golden Haiku Competition, 2018, Golden Triangle BID, Washington, D.C.)

full moon
we leave our clothes
on the cabin floor

snowed in
deep white drifts
quilt the night

 

Valentine’s Day
a child sounds out
candy hearts

every love story
ending the same –
petrichor