I started publishing haiku in 2000, before I really even knew what it was. I found poems that I liked in a book and started sending them to a mailing list, to friends’
Category: Issue 09.1
This is the first sequence on tinywords to be organized into an issue.
alone in the library
I open
to autumn
Roosevelt Island
the ruins of the hospital
touched by graffiti
Yet Our Life Is Sweet
Sleepy after the sun
the house is full of light
spilt from our eyes.
Soon our eyes are empty
and we see.
california sunrise
traffic in the canyon
begins to stall
in one breath the whole autumn
a thousand dreams
yet, this one —
ashes in the breeze
strip mall
a wild turkey pecks
at a hubcap
fall migration
the growing flock
of binoculars
first stars . . .
the timer turns on
the X-mas lights
autumn wind —
looking up for a fly ball
lost in falling leaves
doesn’t matter
where I’m going —
autumn wind
scattered leaves —
two guitar picks
on the blues man’s headstone
watching dad struggle
to remember our names
december sky
a leaf’s skeleton
tossed by the wind —
those moments
when laughter filled
the garden
autumn sunlight
the old dog unearths
her favorite toy
christmas lights . . .
the ambulance flashing
in all the windows
through autumn leaves a teal-trailed wake of light
toll booth lit for Christmas —
from my hand to hers
warm change
old snow
the streetwalker
gives Santa a hug
autumn cascade —
in and out of the foam
a plastic bottle
bow, if you will
marigold’s blossoms
dried brown
late autumn walk
the many paths
I could have taken
in the air
rain in the rain
air
quiet morning
the continuous beeping
of an auto alarm
dew frost ~
the horse shivers off
crystal light
with a crooked branch
I knock the last leaf
off the tree
winter nightfall
Evening prayer – a flickering candle, rainfall.
no more bread–
I’m a shovel in the hand
of winter
early light
my dream drifts out
the open window
silent snow
the coldness
between us
surprise
party
i
hang
my
toupee
on
the
hat
rack
I’ll put it back in the earth, as soft as dust :: a word too much
garden Buddha
knee deep in dead leaves
once again
plans for the year
have gone astray
whirling snow
divorce papers fall
from a red folder
everything
for nothing:
job offer
thunder
interrupting
thunder
footprints
the hollow boom of breakers
in the fog
30
He is young.
He could be younger.
His hands shake.
Even propped on the bar.
His nights:
he stands so ready:
his face: a mark:
the close of claws.
And passed:
after a pause.
outside the bar
men like broken houses
in smoky twilight
i remember how light
his casket was
yet i can’t pick up his toys
still scattered in the yard
low evening fog —
I walk
no dog
Midwinter snowstorm
highway at a standstill
I mistake the vagrant
for my long-dead father
his smile so vacant
winter stars without you to name them
Where are your friends?
You lean over,
the little boy, crumpled.
–Those were my friends.
park bench
the blind man’s glasses
reflect the sunlight
And don’t snow geese and immortality take their shadows from the sea
between
the falling snow
raven
the light in the back
of the flower shop
winter moon
winter dusk
when dad
would phone
burnt toast
no matter what I do
the rain seeps in
snow all night
the silence
thickens
washing up
she looks at the backyard pine
its old nest
winter mist
the scarecrow’s heart
a nesting sparrow
the first brush-stroke
black
the sound of thunder
desert morning
a coyote licks ice
on the tumbleweed
Rain overnight —
the mist on Mynyddislwyn
melts almost as quickly
as it takes me
to write about it.
a spot of light
from the hand mirror
travels up and down her arm
shadow patterns
her neck
elevator silence
our shadows
cross on the floor
deep snow —
I put my feet
in your footsteps
so like bones
the bone-white branches
of the birch tree
casino lights
your bad luck ringing
all their bells
cold morning
touching my breasts
remembering
traffic jam —
from everywhere the snow
heading nowhere
a stone
next to a frozen pond
I long to skip
to another time
another place
Trees blossom into coral
polyps and wave. Tiny bright
squid in shades of pigeon-feet
pink litter concrete sidewalks.
3 a.m.
the dog fetches
yet another stick
haiku history lecture
doodling
paper lanterns
Issue 9.1: Colophon
We’ve published the last poem from issue 9.1 of tinywords, and there will now be a brief break while we get the next set of daily poetry ready.
There’s still