bus stop
an empty bench
and a bag lunch
Tag: haiku
from pampas grass
a dragonfly emerges
thunderclaps
gusty wind
chasing one another
three plastic cups
beach party
the last drop of sunlight
caught in a glass
rain
curtain
of absences
the little spider
hunches sideways—
night shift
whispering grass ~
the scythe’s sound against
the stone
World Series
another layer of paint
flakes off the fence
summer’s end
lilies pointing
toward earth
summer’s end—
rearranging gravel
in the Zen garden
last bloom—
closing
the shears
s
d
r
i
b
recession rising from the factory stacks five small black
October chill
the silence in this shadow
homeless …
a plastic bag drifts
across the sidewalk
migrating geese
rising
out of my chair
slowly
two clouds collide
over rush hour
dense fog
the train evaporates
into a distant horn
flea market~
every old watch
keeps its time
moonrise
moonset
your nakedness
autumn afternoon—
an empty shopping cart
waits at the bus stop
dusk—
ten thousand blackbirds
and no place to park
lit fish stall
open mouths darken
in the night
clear settles night on my a moon white shadow tombstone
deep breath
before I enter
the panhandler’s aura
election night smoke from an unseen cigar
a gardener
on the radio
smells the jasmine
where street meets sunrise—
the steam
traffic jam—
my thoughts
still in motion
a yellow leaf
describes the course
of the wind
amid fallen leaves
a business card
still doing its job
prayer candle
shadows pass through
each other
haiku
I’m not a poem.
I’m a dog. Respect
The differences.
Pelham Parkway
between the winter trees
the child’s breath
in the pool
of the ruined resort
the wild ducks
commuter platform
a harmonica blowing
the freight train blues
leaving the Tokyo subway,
a hundred umbrellas
rise in unison
rooftop garden—
climbing the stairs
back to nature
gallery tour
the ladies gaze
at the dozing watchman
park bench
pigeons begging
the homeless man
department store sale flyers flying
hotel bar:
ice shifts
and shifts again.
just a flat tire
chained to a lamppost
waning autumn moon
dead birds at the base
of the lit skyscraper
autumn midnight
footprints
the prairie dog stretches
its shadow
deep snow …
the acorn
up to its cap
funeral procession the hitchhiker tucks his thumbs in his pockets
nor?easter—
scent of the river
rising
sheltered by the bus stop empties
Buddha eyes—
a hunchbacked woman sweeps
the temple steps
lovers’ moon—
a cicada leaves its shell
on the fence post
birthday party
the new neighbor
shows his tattoo
dead-end street
every house but one
boarded up
the writer
we exchange
a few words
trailing the snail
on the pale gray pavement
an ellipsis . . .
a bowed head
in each bus window
mountain fog
shortest day—
the waiting room clock
at the ICU
January thaw
dog-walkers greet
leashed strangers
goodbye hugs—
all the places
where we touch
not getting my joke
but he smiles anyway—
the stone buddha
juncos black
silhouettes in birch trees
notes on a tangled clef
cherry
blossoms
drifting
down
mission
street
three
pink
hookers
black fedora
the blind man
inspects its brim
corner beggar change is everywhere
owl’s call sounding the depth of a winter night
moon eclipse—
he asks again
what day it is
dead of winter
a wraith from the dryer vent
drifts through the fence
snowstorm
even the stoplights
slow down
painting class
children color each other
into laughter
the snow
before it falls
white sun
Stalin’s statue
in his heart
still stone
midwinter night
light from the snow
the stars
a last rocket…
lights twinkle
into the New Year
sculpture garden—
new snow
on her marble breasts
late afternoon—
a glimpse of sunlight
through her hair
low tide
the silent contractions
of a jellyfish
midnight fog
the street light
a silver dandelion
The fountain’s too lucid
moon—just inches above
a litter of leaves.
snowmelt…
a woodpecker thrums
into thin sun
white phlox blossoms daring the frost
night sky
the rusted tin roof
leaking moonlight
walking back
the way we came
shadows shift
stuttering light
the sound of tea
being poured
a sliver of moon
she asks if he really
exists
street preacher
the hooker throws a few coins
in his hat
almost no delta
at the mouth of the river—
forgotten dreams
on a bare twig rain beads what light there is
iridescence
of the dogwood leaf—
autumn moon
winterlight
a blur of birdsong
in the air
slipping in
beneath the kitchen door
—first sunlight
a jarful of coins
from faraway places
winter stars
low tide
we run through
the clouds
drizzle and mud—
sparrows sinking deeper
into drab
through the skylight
only we
can see these stars
the news
no one wants…
waning moon
black cattle
among the trees
heat lightning
night jog—
sparks from a train
rounding a turn
the rabbit’s ears
translucent
at dawn
sun
through the syringe—
red red poppy bloom
day’s end
refilling my wine glass
moonlight
a firefly’s glow
against her palm
passed to mine
graffiti
sharper
by moonlight
up to the summit up to a hawk’s cry up to the sun
shadows fold within shadows of the rose
black and white
the absolute truth
of her ultrasound
an old woman sweeps
the walk of cherry blossoms
children’s laughter
early spring hike—
brushing the winter dust
off her bones
fireworks at twilight forsythia
(Commended in the Haiku Foundation?s 2011 HaikuNow
Contest, Innovative Category)
July 5th—
ants darken the edge
of a dropped chip
phosphorescence
a firefly alights
on the periodic table
summer breeze …
the wind generators
in unison
the curve
of her hips—
buttercups
waiting for the sheep to pass a skylark's song
as she leaves again the scent of apricots
a swallowtail
touches my fingertips—
warrior pose
unboxed letters
what I missed
between the lines
teaching my sons
to skip river stones
ripples converge
days, weeks, months
her dressing gown still hanging
on our bedroom door
in the curve of the piano a face disappears into itself
beer and wine
a summer night
with my sometime thing
yoshino cherry tree—
it was never a question
of if