Category: Issue 19.2

subtexts
we cross the invisible
flight lines of bees

saving for a winter’s day gold-dusted bee

the sharp pop
of cooling lids
prickly pear jam

 

artichoke flowers
singed to blue
summer’s end

 

summer gossip
the endless song
of cicadas

 

late summer
the sky a tangle
of kite surfers

neighbor’s yard
three white butterflies
braid the air

monarch
out of nowhere–
and in the next breath
gone

 

here
for the time being
wind-sculpted tide pool

beachcombing —
I fill my pockets
with regret

 

this ragged rhythm
counting the beats per minute
late summer dusk

shaken
from my sleeping bag…
seeds of another summer

 

 

 

(Originally appeared in Chrysanthemum 15, April 2014)

she’s quite famous she tells me dandelion seed

 

all my rough edges
smoothed out by salt air
morning stroll

Tlingit dance —
the memory of the memory
of a friend

getting out of it
what I put in
didgeridoo

 

outdoor theater
the canyon wren’s
clear soliloquy

 

 

everyone
gets a bow
peonies

 

kitchen moon
a cricket sings
from my shoe

mid-throw
my dog catches
a new scent

 

home run
the baseball leaves us
all behind

 

first inning
a taste of the hot sun
in mustard

end of summer–
the hot dog vendor’s
last customer

twilight
losing sight
of the whiffle ball

roadside memorial
morning glories
ruffled by the wind

cemetery
a woodpecker’s
taps

 

for each grave
a different verb
carried, lifted, borne

 

 

 

 

(Originally published in what a [hiding] place, Cyberwit, 2019)

nightmare
unhinged all night
the banging shutter

 

hurricane rain
floating leaves
in the wheelbarrow

 

climate change rally
a toddler secure
on his father’s shoulders

 

a ruckus of crows
outside the polling place
all-day fog

 

cicadas drone
one campaign promise
after another

 

razor sharp
with his divisiveness
wrapping
the border wall
in concertina wire

overcast sky
the census taker asks
if I live alone

Veteran’s Day
he salutes with his
missing hand

a fawn at the heels
of a lame doe
sun mixes with rain

afternoon sun
an oarsman breaks
another cloud

 

 

 

(Originally in A Haze of Infinity, the London haiku group anthology, 2017)

autumn leaves more sky

 

unmarked grave …
a thousand red maples
offer their leaves

belonging
where I don’t belong
giant sequoia

 

outlasting
everyone she loved –
heartwood

the slit
in a cicada’s husk
hospice garden

narrowing arteries —
my friendship circle
dwindles

her good days…
scattered sunlight
in the garden

 

autumn afternoon…
I walk around inside
a Van Gogh

bubbles
scattering
children

 

grackles
the teen boys
raid the fridge

 

iced melon
a granddaughter’s grin
overflows her face

 

crowded sidewalk
briefly
part of a family

 

autumn rain
nothing new
in my e-mail

 

insomnia…
my computer
goes to sleep

forgotten frost
I add a name back
to my contacts

 

art of cursive
the barn swallows inking
a washi sky

 

one autumn cloud
meandering
pony ride

shoe box
my cat takes on
its shape

sunrise yoga
my body bends
into daylight

noon
the bonsai’s shadow
barely there

 

days end the sound of sunlight glinting off a distant jet

 

first light
her hands already full
of the day’s chores

 

chairs overturned
on dusk-lit tables–
a pause in the broom

 

dining alfresco
starlings break formation
on our server’s tattoo

the rill’s trick
a greenfinch moves
its green around

 

 

 

(Third Place, 2018 Henderson Haiku Contest, Haiku Society of America)

little things
clearer now
chickadee

a visit home
all the bird songs
sound the same

 

pinning it down with a song childhood memory

 

just an excuse
to kiss you
mistletoe

empty terminal
the last bus riderless
departs on schedule

book club
all the characters
driven to drink

deep winter dive bar stares from an unfamiliar face

preparing my face
for the other faces
class reunion

revolving doors
the lies
we tell ourselves

Walden Pond
the whistle of a train
crosses the years

morning quiet
a minnow
nabs a gnat

wheelchair tai chi
a dragonfly
flexes its wings

pond strider the silence of Cassiopeia

 

 

 

(Originally in Autumn Moon Haiku Journal 2:2, Spring/Summer 2019)

late road trip
pulled over
by the full moon

 

rush hour
a cross-hatch
of contrails

 

spring afternoon
every passing car throbs
with hip-hop

evening fog
I follow frogsong
all the way home

no fly in a flicker of the bluetongue’s tongue

 

 

a new mountain
trail in my chest
defibrillator

submerged skiff-
all the fish
it catches

 

rent arrears
my son’s goldfish swims
around its castle

 

beached seaweed
all the tangles
of this life

falling light
rinses over his face…
father at the sink

 

crow’s nest
in the crook of a tree
winter bones

growing
at an angle
winter sapling

agreeing to therapy
dishes dry
on the rack

deep winter
a spider’s web
in the skylight

an old cedar grove
behind the ancient temple–
deep wisdom

 

wedding eve
the clink of bangles
in red

yin and yang
snow paints
the coal yard

silent clouds
the sharp pop
of a hunter’s gun

deep winter
the small comfort
of tea tins

hothouse roses
without a scent
those words
of comfort
you almost offered

hometown diner–
whispered rumors
of misplaced love

pop-up snowstorm
the swirl of Van Gogh’s
starry nights

spring breeze
the happy wave
of long johns