Haiku

What we don’t see: on

the back of a cell phone, a

sky of brilliant stars.
(after Basho)

An idle day, on

the couch with cats, hum of the

refrigerator.

A week’s clothes tumble

in the dryer, and we read,

silent, together.

Hunger pain like

a pull inward, so familiar

it feels like family.

They say we are made

of stardust, but today I

simply feel burned out.

Cuts and scars are there

to see--what healing happens

where eyes can’t see?

Sleep scans the crackly

radio dial of dreams,

voices in static.

Undone homework--what

is that sound? It’s the teacher’s

head hitting the board.

Her life was a bad

first draft, ripe for revision’s

heavy, cutting pen.

the morning starts with

a cold razor to the skin--

this is called normal?

The man sits in his

tower of gold and mirrors--

windows warp what’s real.

On the hill, bare trees

stand like shocks of thinning hair--

a man’s late winter.

Haiku

Jesus died for your 

sins, and the dinosaurs died

for your gasoline.

Less light falls today,

an early bed, a chance to

turn in, turn inward.

Seats for seven, but

six are empty—the car’s solace

for the sole driver.

Men in suits talk tough,

thousands of miles from the

soldier on fire.

War is not fought from

a chair; countries are not led

from the battlefield.

Don’t imitate me—

It’s like an echo, always

coming in second. 

The annoying fly—

I’d let you live if you stayed

slightly out of reach.

In the museum, 

a girl sits, trying for the

most charming selfie. 

They put on ears, tails—

It’s nothing new, this human 

worship of felines.

The cat kneads the soft

blanket, remembers happy

times with his mama.

Full moon haiku

Full moon, and a cat

patrols her perimeter

down the quiet street.

A slap of shoes on

sidewalk, and a runner is

home, quickly inside.

Full moon, high and bright--

even the streetlights cannot

outshine that blue light.

Haiku on the stoop

Evening on the stoop--

moths drawn to light, humans drawn

to the August sky.

Stars shine silently--

violence is beautiful

with enough distance.

A bottle falls, breaks,

as I squelch a shout, mindful

of neighbors' windows.

A meteor's brief

flash—the deepest wishes cross

our minds so quickly.

Meteors become

wishes—proof that humans' hopes

cling to anything.

A sheltered cat's cry,

doubting the clockwork of food

in her silver bowl.

Sounds reach farther in

the night—my mind, also, as

day quiets and dims.

Adirondack Haiku and Tanka (7/15/12)

A day's talking is

done—now the rain's soft patter

outside is enough.

Inside, low light and

a soft chair; outside, peaks reach

into the dark night.

An unlocked door, a

room with a bed—sleep well, and

pay in the morning.

July, and wood stacked

by the hearth promises light,

heat for short, cold days.

Question after an

arduous climb: insight

or just a light head?

On the peak's leeward

side—moss and flowers cling to

scant dirt on hard rock.

Returning to camp

at night, my light finds five pairs

of yellow eyes that

watch from the pine's boughs: raccoons

beginning the second shift.

Two haiku

Low hum of warm air,
writers at their work. The door
creaks, and faces turn.



January sky--
another minute of light
today. I'll take it.

Independence Day haiku

Drawn by loud and bright
things, they fill the city on
Independence Day.


Circling cars stop, and
people get out at the first
boom and flash above.


Bright colors distract—
eyes closed, nothing but the deep,
fearful explosions.


Fireworks’ booms, they
echo sounds of war, far from
tonight’s street party.


A city stops, as
people fill the street: colors
bloom in the night sky.


Independence Day:
freedom of assembly, right
here, now, on my block.

Haiku

Morning, and I sip
from my cup, wishing you'd taste
the tea on my tongue.

Wishing on stars as
they burn to dust--how much fuel
does a hope require?

Winter hearts freeze in
January's heavy air,
catching at my throat.

Exam time: students
lean and write, as I sit and
ponder my own tests.

I shake my pen--out
of ink and out of time, with
much more left to say.

Seven haiku

Summer splashes in
the pool, fuzzy sweaters in
winter--a child's carefree life.


Dribble, jump, turn and
air ballet before the swoosh--
fist bumps and back slaps.


Squealing tires up
the block, held tightly in my
angry pinhole sight.


Empty apartment--
now home to random trash and
chilly, weeping ghosts.


Not a sad goodbye--
skinny arms around me and
her cheek on my chest.


Bags of groceries fill
my car's trunk, as Dad stands, arms
clasped, held behind him.


A soft purr at my
side, the soundtrack to a dark
night in my green room.