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  

A new haibun by Bob Lucky.

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)