Category: Issue 21.1

Our new background image for issue 21.1 can be seen as a welcome reminder that we humans do overcome incredible obstacles. And so we have begun to move in the right direction

winter’s end
a wardrobe slaps closed

revealing a little
more of themselves
crocuses

first daffodil
forever
the show-off

 

Spring fever
dancing just for themselves
girls in white dresses

a fine mist clings
to old-man’s beard
signs of spring

steady thaw
the wood frog’s heart
beats again

new ache
writing a psalm
on my heart

 

Light,
the old monk said,

is like silence
you can see.

 

Holy Saturday
the door cam catches
a porch pirate’s breath

 

 

Easter morning
fox cubs scuffle
over a thrush egg

 

 

 

(The Mainichi, April 11, 2020)

 

empty
a crow leaves
the robin’s nest

between heartbeats
a breath
of hyacinths

 

a snowflake
out of nowhere
just one

first rays of sun
on morning frost . . .
I’ll catch the next train

 

after our tiff
about whose turn to shovel
sudden snowmelt

 

social distancing
at your place
or mine

 

only the top
two plates used
pandemic

moonlight
trapped in icicles …
one virus variant
after another
in this new normal

interrupted dream—
I make myself small
to slip back in

 

Covid life as we don’t know it

lockdown blues
a hit of whip cream
straight from the can

nestled into oak the urge of white trilliums

 

Survival

leaping from branch to branch, a fruit bat browses the cashew tree.

tracing the edge
of a half-eaten leaf —
gibbous moon

 

year of the ox
most of us
plodding on

gibbous moon
she gives me the bigger
piece of pie

graveyard shift
another year of waiting tables
of waiting dreams

migrant
detention

sunset

ladders
the sky

family tree
the leaves
that brought me here

my child –
wind blown leaves
beyond recall

 

empty playground
a lollipop-shaped
swarm of ants

 

cactus blossoms holding on to hope

 

 

late Monday
the quiet work
of bees

 

imagine the sound of rain
to the snail
inside its shell

deep wrinkles
the paths into her eyes
filling with rain

sun among the branches …
in the smile of an old man
a gold tooth

 

temple procession
in between drumbeats
elephant chains

barely dawn
a spider weaves yesterday
into today

a flash of kingfisher blue morning fog

glass rings
on the barroom counter
daylight moon

another bill drops in the letter box longer days

pandemic
another candle
at dusk

its fragrance
almost a taste
lilac

 

hammock time
a neighbor’s lawnmower
cuts it short

 

Full moon
how is it, my friend
where you are

wind-blown rain
gutters fill
with blossoms

evening quiet
the widow wears
his glasses

old photo
the smiles
I left behind

 

rusting in dry dock
a boat named
let it be

high tide
a ghost crab
unearths the stars

if only
I could awake
in the arms
of the northern lights …
dancing, dancing

 

completing
the silence
coyotes

 

after a quarrel —
from the chimney
cooing of doves

yellow locust leaves
settling between the bricks
we decide to stay

moving day
a pink flamingo peeks
from the trash

 

late spring
a robin’s
thinning voice

out of the blue
my son calls—
late spring

 

Zoom—
I hazard
a new red lipstick

Sunday afternoon
I know the time
by the light

green everywhere i turn into summer

 

it’s hot, it’s hot . . .
the late-night complaints
of banjo frogs

ripe mango
that delicious shiver
after rain

talk of rain
the first drop hits
my lower lip

the well too full
for empty words to echo

 

Note: This is a tan renga by Jennifer Hambrick and Brad Bennett.

creeping phlox
pours over the ledge
she says what I feel

 

waterfall –
a single drop of river
finds its fern

veins of quartz
running under the firs
white water

waning light
a cormorant and I
linger in deep water

 

rented cottage
a hummingbird returns
to an empty feeder

 

antique shop
today’s prices
on vintage tags

sipping tea
sent by a friend
as a birthday gift
I am learning
to grow old

late innings in the stands gathering dust

grieving all day
in the wind
three tall magenta zinnias

 

 

 

 

(previously published in Modern Haiku, 2020)

sister lotus
teach me the Dao
of blossoms

zoom therapy
the small holes in the back
of my sweater

bones the geology of me

age spots
I no longer talk
with my hands

everywhere
someone’s hands
this old adobe

with every storm
this spiderweb
rent and rebuilt

day long rain
the missing numbers
on the remote control

 

spitting rain
the sound of noodles
hitting the wok

 

banana split
the child in me
still a child

family photo —
everyone wears
the same smile

 

 

 

(originally published in Chronogram, Dec 2007)

staying in touch—
after the Zoom meeting
moon meditation

 

St. Mark’s Square
a cloud of pigeons unveils
a cloud of tourists

 

filling in
the empty spaces
daily crossword

midwinter
a redtail endures
the rain

who knows how long
widowhood lasts
mute swan

marriage anniversary
mom melts the old candles
together

 

winter rain
a blue bowl overflows
with clementines

he hawk flicks its tail
atop the telephone pole–
pelting winter rain

gathering dusk
i leave the old toys
at the thrift shop

receding hairline growing my collection of hats

my head
full of worries…
drooping sunflowers

picking wildflowers
she always takes things
literally

wild mushrooms
I kept on picking
the wrong man

 

she stakes out
her own path
climbing rose

 

the just-purple
of beach plums
a tern’s whistle

far love
the scent of apples
on the wind

 

autumn leaves falling for her

autumn afternoon
I bring a little honey to
a slow moving bee

some color
lost in the wash
autumn rain

 

deep autumn
the red in my hair
long gone