Category: Issue 24.1

flowering myrtle
the world arising
in starry profusion

as if all wrongs
could be righted
daylight saving time

 

 

season opener
the beer man delivers
a perfect pitch

 

beach meditation
the mantra
of waves

 

in the place
past all emotions
winter ocean

 

an orphan
chooses her birthday
first crocus

earth hour
the warmth of cayenne pepper
in the cocoa

 

sent home
affairs in order
spring snowman

snow-covered logs
right where the river
left them

 

early spring
a slow white rain
dusts the trees

 

stepping stones
the safe remarks
of small talk

dating profile
 she searches for
  her good side

spritz of perfume
in her hair
lighter days

 

photo album
dusting off
an old boyfriend

Reminiscences

I just finished work on the night shift and went topside to get fresh air. No one was on deck, and I could see the Destroyer’s trail of smoke above the glass

the tendrils
of a mermaid’s purse
forgotten tide

 

an albatross
on every shoreline
rising water

 

feral tide the trash we feed it

 

the lee side
of a wreck
beach roses

all the shades
of a curlew’s cry
sunset shore

 

humpback whale!
for a split-second
the sky steps back

 

 

(Originally published in Presence Haiku Journal #76, July 2023)

 

 

 

 

desert vista
bowled over
by blue

 

dipping into
the color scale
salmon spawn

fishing lodge stories
everything measured
in fingers of whiskey

 

retirement party
sharing fruit punch
spiked with lies

 

as immortal
as possible
strawflower

 

childfree
she lends me
her pity

 

family stories…
so many versions
of the truth

 

cavelight someone else’s footsteps

 

Footnote

In college, I took a course on the Old Testament. The professor could read seventeen dead Near Eastern languages and talk about Sir Izaak Walton and fly fishing

moving day
a kitten sways
from her mother’s mouth

 

still on the shelf
a skipping stone
from my childhood

violin busking
Vivaldi’s Spring
for his daughter’s shoes

 

a dollar held
out the car window
hazy half-moon

Urban sunrise
the garbage truck brakes
heave a sigh

 

tarpaulins
in the evening rain
street fair

end-stage…
the scent of rain
before it falls

 

nocturne without benefit of stars

 

moon garden
fragrance seeps out
of the umbra

 

 

wild iris
a letter in an envelope
sealed by your tongue

Monet’s lilies
a midge in the mouth
of a dragonfly

painting
by numbers
AI

 

mixing
the stolen crypto
pollen wind

 

up early
the day moon
for company

 

vacation rental
no prior mention
of roosters

 

end of a long drive
the cool of the sea
around my ankles

 

storm alert –
the sound of banana fronds
slapping

tornado siren
a black nose pressed
between barnboards

 

morning rain
the bronc rider cradles
his broken arm

a green lacewing
on the torn screen window
stormlight

 

flying west
the sun sets and sets
ahead of a storm

 

refugees everywhere . . .
lone planets wander
without a sun

 

scattered
where she wanted
summer stars

 

holding hands
his tremor
becomes hers

 

misting flowers
my late father
in Street View

first blossom
to droop
birthday bouquet

 

as old as I
the mirror
desilvering

revealing
my true age
hotel mirror

 

year of the dragon
some fire still remains
in my belly

 

 

 

(Originally published on Zen Peacemakers Featured Haiku Page, January 2024)

 

 

mead moon
tracing his highland clan
to a field of rubble

beachcombing
within the sand dollar
a lost city

returning them
for more polish
skipping stones

monarchs returning to pure instinct

 

Summer romance
a firefly flashes
its green light

summer clouds
the taiko drummer
widens her stance

before it’s too late-flowering boneset

sudden sun
the window-stunned woodpecker
takes flight

 

drizzling glaze
on the orange bundt cake
long summer days

keeping pace
with summer
double dutch

 

late winter
the thump of a basketball
up and down the street

no birds calling
a shiver winds through
the upper boughs

raven atop
the towering snag —
a winter’s tale

 

my son learns
what it means to be infinite
first winter stars

big dipper, little dipper
I memorize
your laugh lines

sharp-edged dune grass
we argue
against the wind

 

 

first snow
some pills
are hard to swallow

ripping duct tape the sound of divorce

 

the talk
of the town
blue moon

 

chill in the air—
leaves swirling
by an election sign

 

feeling a chill
the scarlet maple
spills out of itself

I shake the sand
out of my walking shoes –
early autumn rain

 

 

 

(Originally published in Hedgerow #144, Winter 2023)