city stoplight --
a peregrine falcon perches high
above the crowd
16 December 2012
fine gray rain
a tray of chocolate stars
cools on the table
18 December 2012
hurried steps
my frosty breath rises towards
the half moon
20 December 2012
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
undecided voter
undecided voter
half a moon hangs
in the noon sky
6 November 2012
morning thoughts
a thick haze hangs
over the frosty field
11 December 2012
fine gray rain
a flashmob of santas
in union square
16 December 2012
half a moon hangs
in the noon sky
6 November 2012
morning thoughts
a thick haze hangs
over the frosty field
11 December 2012
fine gray rain
a flashmob of santas
in union square
16 December 2012
Sunday, October 14, 2012
the haijin plays on (cdxxxv)
The haiku retrospective is over, but the haijin keeps on writing.
deep shade
the homeless guys invite me
to share their curb
9 October 2012
the sound of rain
i burrow deeper
into bed
10 October 2012
autumn chill
the blind poodle tangled
on the phone cord again
12 October 2012
deep shade
the homeless guys invite me
to share their curb
9 October 2012
the sound of rain
i burrow deeper
into bed
10 October 2012
autumn chill
the blind poodle tangled
on the phone cord again
12 October 2012
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxxxiv
empty bottle
we start singing
another old tune
18 July 2012
dry season
the grass fades
from gold to tan
19 July 2012
...and that's all.
Thus ends the haiku retrospective I began in January 2011 to celebrate my 50th birthday.
we start singing
another old tune
18 July 2012
dry season
the grass fades
from gold to tan
19 July 2012
...and that's all.
Thus ends the haiku retrospective I began in January 2011 to celebrate my 50th birthday.
Monday, October 8, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxxxiii
single place setting
she lifts her water glass
to her reflection
What is missing in my haiku is my father.
My very sociable mother had to come to terms with being alone after my father's death in 2009. Her dining room is a room of many mirrors. I imagined her, with her table neatly set for herself, lifting her water glass to her reflection before eating her solitary supper. I replaced the wine (her beverage of choice with her evening meal) with water to underscore the aloneness in the haiku.
I am happy to report that my mother has a new boyfriend as of December and is no longer having to come to terms with her loneliness.
Funny that I set this haiku in the dining room. My mother keeps my father's ashes in a fancy soup tureen on the sideboard. She had no other place to keep them in her small apartment, and she didn't want to put my dad in the closet.
Since my father's death, she has been taking film canisters of his ashes to all the places they loved, all around the world, and scattering them. It was a centering activity for her, a way of remembering and letting go.
manhattan park bench
she points out the flower bed
where she put his ashes
Recently, she has been talking about scattering the remainder of his ashes in one place. I guess she is really ready to let him go.
Her new love calls her frequently when she is out and about in her busy life. She talks about him incessantly, stars in her eyes.
cell phone chime
she blushes when i mime
a tiny violin
12 February 2012
she lifts her water glass
to her reflection
What is missing in my haiku is my father.
My very sociable mother had to come to terms with being alone after my father's death in 2009. Her dining room is a room of many mirrors. I imagined her, with her table neatly set for herself, lifting her water glass to her reflection before eating her solitary supper. I replaced the wine (her beverage of choice with her evening meal) with water to underscore the aloneness in the haiku.
I am happy to report that my mother has a new boyfriend as of December and is no longer having to come to terms with her loneliness.
Funny that I set this haiku in the dining room. My mother keeps my father's ashes in a fancy soup tureen on the sideboard. She had no other place to keep them in her small apartment, and she didn't want to put my dad in the closet.
Since my father's death, she has been taking film canisters of his ashes to all the places they loved, all around the world, and scattering them. It was a centering activity for her, a way of remembering and letting go.
manhattan park bench
she points out the flower bed
where she put his ashes
Recently, she has been talking about scattering the remainder of his ashes in one place. I guess she is really ready to let him go.
Her new love calls her frequently when she is out and about in her busy life. She talks about him incessantly, stars in her eyes.
cell phone chime
she blushes when i mime
a tiny violin
12 February 2012
Sunday, October 7, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxxxii
tart raspberries
evening comes earlier
and earlier
18 October 2011
chemo drip
i wish i could give you the moon
instead
8 May 2012
waning moon
the cricket behind the fridge
starts singing
16 July 2012
evening comes earlier
and earlier
18 October 2011
chemo drip
i wish i could give you the moon
instead
8 May 2012
waning moon
the cricket behind the fridge
starts singing
16 July 2012
Saturday, October 6, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxxxi
The idea of people from La Belle Epoque sharing their thoughts online made me grin. Gentlemen in top hats and women in leg-o'-mutton sleeves forcefully hitting carriage return manually on steampunk Internet terminals as they send off their flames to the other turn-of-the-century Internet users.
thread drift
she pokes the flames
with the tip of her parasol
10 October 2011
stacked dishes
the clean-up crew switches
to loud techno
10 October 2011
geese in formation
the old man doffs
his cap
18 October 2011
thread drift
she pokes the flames
with the tip of her parasol
10 October 2011
stacked dishes
the clean-up crew switches
to loud techno
10 October 2011
geese in formation
the old man doffs
his cap
18 October 2011
Friday, October 5, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxxx
Leaf Fall
The Santa Cruz mountains, a place of hot, dry summers and long lush rainy seasons. The maple trees soak up the winter rain and store it in their leaves. Even on the hottest days of summer, the maple leaves whisper about last year's rain. They seem to promise that the heat will break, that clouds will once again cover the relentless sun, that life-giving water will return to all the creatures of our coastal rainforest.
summer maples
we walk from one shade oasis
to the next
The maples act as living rain and heat gauges. In hot, dry years, the maples start dropping their leaves in August. In cool, wet years, they hang onto their leaves past the first rains. Many years, the leaves turn gold on the trees, only dropping when the first good wind storm drives them to the ground.
There's a pumpkin farm up our road where parents and teachers take children for an autumn afternoon. The children go on hay rides, feed the farm animals, and bring home one perfect pumpkin to carve into a jack-o'-lantern.
pumpkin traffic
the maple canopy still green
overhead
As reluctant as the maples might be to let the seasons change this year, the change comes.
autumn street
a small brown maple leaf
worn around the edges
There's a fine drizzle overnight. I turn on my windshield wipers as I drive to town in the morning.
full circle
a small golden leaf caught
in my windshield wiper
This leaf doesn't have the staying power of the famous leaf of 2009, however. I watch it flutter for the mile and a half into town.
bus stop
the leaf dances off
on its next adventure
I can almost hear it whisper, Hey, thanks for the lift!
The Santa Cruz mountains, a place of hot, dry summers and long lush rainy seasons. The maple trees soak up the winter rain and store it in their leaves. Even on the hottest days of summer, the maple leaves whisper about last year's rain. They seem to promise that the heat will break, that clouds will once again cover the relentless sun, that life-giving water will return to all the creatures of our coastal rainforest.
summer maples
we walk from one shade oasis
to the next
The maples act as living rain and heat gauges. In hot, dry years, the maples start dropping their leaves in August. In cool, wet years, they hang onto their leaves past the first rains. Many years, the leaves turn gold on the trees, only dropping when the first good wind storm drives them to the ground.
There's a pumpkin farm up our road where parents and teachers take children for an autumn afternoon. The children go on hay rides, feed the farm animals, and bring home one perfect pumpkin to carve into a jack-o'-lantern.
pumpkin traffic
the maple canopy still green
overhead
As reluctant as the maples might be to let the seasons change this year, the change comes.
autumn street
a small brown maple leaf
worn around the edges
There's a fine drizzle overnight. I turn on my windshield wipers as I drive to town in the morning.
full circle
a small golden leaf caught
in my windshield wiper
This leaf doesn't have the staying power of the famous leaf of 2009, however. I watch it flutter for the mile and a half into town.
bus stop
the leaf dances off
on its next adventure
I can almost hear it whisper, Hey, thanks for the lift!
Thursday, October 4, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxxix
rash decision
red leaves
on the dining room table
When my grandparents moved to California from Texas, my grandmother asked my grandfather to pick a bouquet of the pretty autumn leaves for the dining room table.
Neither of them had ever heard of poison oak.
1 October 2011
autumn trail
the sound of heavy rain
from the raven's beak
9 October 2011
gray morning
a phone call from a friend
i'd almost forgotten
10 October 2011
red leaves
on the dining room table
When my grandparents moved to California from Texas, my grandmother asked my grandfather to pick a bouquet of the pretty autumn leaves for the dining room table.
Neither of them had ever heard of poison oak.
1 October 2011
autumn trail
the sound of heavy rain
from the raven's beak
9 October 2011
gray morning
a phone call from a friend
i'd almost forgotten
10 October 2011
Sunday, August 19, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxxviii
half-light
the cat turns and washes
one paw
19 September 2011
restless night
turning from one shoulder
to the other
25 September 2011
hollow oak:
the echo of
your final words
30 September 2011
the cat turns and washes
one paw
19 September 2011
restless night
turning from one shoulder
to the other
25 September 2011
hollow oak:
the echo of
your final words
30 September 2011
Saturday, August 18, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxvii
A friend posted something about the bygone days of haiku email lists,
the days when there were hundreds of posts a day and long long haiku
chains with dozens of authors contributing. He did not wax eloquent
about the harsh criticism that many haiku received, but that was part of
the picture as well. And, although the criticism was not as much fun as
the play, it did serve to refine our haiku.
Anyway, this calls to mind Tim Russell's haiku exercise, one that many of us found useful.
In the old days on the shiki list, we were trying to write in the style of shiki. So haiku were to be two concrete images, with a break and a seasonal reference. There was much discussion of kireji (which I am translating rather loosely as “break”) and kigo (seasonal reference). Haiku were to be drawn from one moment in time, and sketched from life like a watercolour painting (shasei).
Tim had an exercise, one that could be useful to keep our minds limber for when a haiku moment seized us by the throats. It's a very simple exercise, one that yields 10 shasei a day.
First, pick the month or season and some aspect of it to be the short part of the days' exercise:
september grasses
spring growth
dead trees
hunter's moon
summer river
Next, take a notebook and a pencil and go for a stroll or sit on a bench somewhere.
Notice something. Write it down. Turn your head in a different direction or stroll a little further. Notice something else and write it down.
Continue until you have 10 longer parts of the haiku:
a boy picking scabs on the steps
a calico cat crouched on the car's hood
the spent blossoms of the lily-of-the-nile
a cacophony of birdsong
a heavy tread coming up the steps
oak moths mating in the bathroom
a stack of plates by the dishwasher
dust on the stack of summer reading
i try to take a sip from an empty teacup
wild cucumber tangled in the redwood
Now combine them:
september grasses
a boy picking scabs
on the steps
september grasses
a calico cat crouched
on the car's hood
september grasses
the spent blossoms
of the lily-of-the-nile
september grasses
a cacophony
of birdsong
september grasses
a heavy tread coming
up the steps
september grasses
oak moths mating
in the bathroom
september grasses
a stack of plates
by the dishwasher
september grasses
dust on the stack
of summer reading
september grasses
i try to take a sip
from an empty teacup
september grasses
wild cucumber tangled
in the redwood
In Tim's exercise, you now put these things away.
Do 10 more tomorrow.
14 September 2011
Anyway, this calls to mind Tim Russell's haiku exercise, one that many of us found useful.
In the old days on the shiki list, we were trying to write in the style of shiki. So haiku were to be two concrete images, with a break and a seasonal reference. There was much discussion of kireji (which I am translating rather loosely as “break”) and kigo (seasonal reference). Haiku were to be drawn from one moment in time, and sketched from life like a watercolour painting (shasei).
Tim had an exercise, one that could be useful to keep our minds limber for when a haiku moment seized us by the throats. It's a very simple exercise, one that yields 10 shasei a day.
First, pick the month or season and some aspect of it to be the short part of the days' exercise:
september grasses
spring growth
dead trees
hunter's moon
summer river
Next, take a notebook and a pencil and go for a stroll or sit on a bench somewhere.
Notice something. Write it down. Turn your head in a different direction or stroll a little further. Notice something else and write it down.
Continue until you have 10 longer parts of the haiku:
a boy picking scabs on the steps
a calico cat crouched on the car's hood
the spent blossoms of the lily-of-the-nile
a cacophony of birdsong
a heavy tread coming up the steps
oak moths mating in the bathroom
a stack of plates by the dishwasher
dust on the stack of summer reading
i try to take a sip from an empty teacup
wild cucumber tangled in the redwood
Now combine them:
september grasses
a boy picking scabs
on the steps
september grasses
a calico cat crouched
on the car's hood
september grasses
the spent blossoms
of the lily-of-the-nile
september grasses
a cacophony
of birdsong
september grasses
a heavy tread coming
up the steps
september grasses
oak moths mating
in the bathroom
september grasses
a stack of plates
by the dishwasher
september grasses
dust on the stack
of summer reading
september grasses
i try to take a sip
from an empty teacup
september grasses
wild cucumber tangled
in the redwood
In Tim's exercise, you now put these things away.
Do 10 more tomorrow.
14 September 2011
Friday, August 17, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxxvi
turning leaves
the silence so deep it fills
with memories
13 September 2011
summer love
a faded red t-shirt rots
in the gutter
13 September 2011
september grasses
the rumble of a distant
trash cart
14 September 2011
the silence so deep it fills
with memories
13 September 2011
summer love
a faded red t-shirt rots
in the gutter
13 September 2011
september grasses
the rumble of a distant
trash cart
14 September 2011
Thursday, August 16, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxxv
neglected garden
the sweet peas
stage a riot
9 August 2011
late-summer laze
the fading sweet peas nod
in the breeze
18 August 2011
hints of autumn
a piece of my soul rushes
out the door
6 September 2011
the sweet peas
stage a riot
9 August 2011
late-summer laze
the fading sweet peas nod
in the breeze
18 August 2011
hints of autumn
a piece of my soul rushes
out the door
6 September 2011
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxxiv
farmer's market
checking out the guy
checking me out
21 May 2011
rolling enchiladas --
i want to wrap his smile
around me
14 June 2011
lingering silence --
i burrow into the softness
of his smile
14 June 2011
checking out the guy
checking me out
21 May 2011
rolling enchiladas --
i want to wrap his smile
around me
14 June 2011
lingering silence --
i burrow into the softness
of his smile
14 June 2011
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxxiii
pretending
to be grown up...
the lines around my eyes
14 April 2011
counting blessings
he includes the beautiful
dandelions
23 April 2011
no zest
empty lemon husks
on the cutting board
28 April 2011
to be grown up...
the lines around my eyes
14 April 2011
counting blessings
he includes the beautiful
dandelions
23 April 2011
no zest
empty lemon husks
on the cutting board
28 April 2011
Monday, August 13, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxxii
first farm share
i dance to “back together”
with broccoli rabe
5 April 2011
spring squall
dividing radicchio
from the farm share
7 April 2011
cold snap --
the dandelion patch open
for business
9 April 2011
i dance to “back together”
with broccoli rabe
5 April 2011
spring squall
dividing radicchio
from the farm share
7 April 2011
cold snap --
the dandelion patch open
for business
9 April 2011
Sunday, August 12, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxxi
30 March 2011
Some haiku just won't let you go.
Many years ago, I saw a very ominous blackbird hunkered down on a wrought iron fence. It had just been raining hard, but was now sunny, and the fence was covered with dazzling backlit raindrops.
I tried several times to make a go of this haiku, but it just wouldn't do it. Somehow, the image was too full, too intense to be distilled down into the form of haiku. People suggested to me that there was more there than a haiku could hold, and so I reluctantly let it go.
It held on, however, and this version whispered itself to me last night:
hunchbacked crow --
sunlit raindrops hang
from the wrought iron fence
Here, for comparison, are the earlier attempts:
backlit raindrops
on the black iron fence
blackbird fluffs her feathers
13 April 2000
pearly raindrops
on the wrought iron fence
a blackbird fluffs her feathers
14 April 2000
raindrops on the fence
a blackbird hunches
feathers fluffed
18 April 2000
Some haiku just won't let you go.
Many years ago, I saw a very ominous blackbird hunkered down on a wrought iron fence. It had just been raining hard, but was now sunny, and the fence was covered with dazzling backlit raindrops.
I tried several times to make a go of this haiku, but it just wouldn't do it. Somehow, the image was too full, too intense to be distilled down into the form of haiku. People suggested to me that there was more there than a haiku could hold, and so I reluctantly let it go.
It held on, however, and this version whispered itself to me last night:
hunchbacked crow --
sunlit raindrops hang
from the wrought iron fence
Here, for comparison, are the earlier attempts:
backlit raindrops
on the black iron fence
blackbird fluffs her feathers
13 April 2000
pearly raindrops
on the wrought iron fence
a blackbird fluffs her feathers
14 April 2000
raindrops on the fence
a blackbird hunches
feathers fluffed
18 April 2000
Saturday, August 11, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxx
tsunami shelter
deep pools of beauty
in each pair of eyes
16 March 2011
black lace and moonlight
her underthings draped
over the chair
17 March 2011
sunbathe
a dead bee
in the leaf litter
3 April 2011
deep pools of beauty
in each pair of eyes
16 March 2011
black lace and moonlight
her underthings draped
over the chair
17 March 2011
sunbathe
a dead bee
in the leaf litter
3 April 2011
Friday, August 10, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxix
lowering sky --
maple syrup soaks
into my oatmeal
28 February 2011
closed window --
the room's reflection hides
the night
3 March 2011
dying fire-
what will they find when they empty
the ashes of my life?
9 March 2011
maple syrup soaks
into my oatmeal
28 February 2011
closed window --
the room's reflection hides
the night
3 March 2011
dying fire-
what will they find when they empty
the ashes of my life?
9 March 2011
Thursday, August 9, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxviii
leafless maple
she fingers the wool
of his last chemo cap
8 January 2011
the squeak of gurney wheels
i wish the surgical staff
happy valentine's day
15 February 2011
music for breakfast --
nothing to make me think
of you
23 February 2011
she fingers the wool
of his last chemo cap
8 January 2011
the squeak of gurney wheels
i wish the surgical staff
happy valentine's day
15 February 2011
music for breakfast --
nothing to make me think
of you
23 February 2011
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
haiku retrospectiive cdxvii
cherries on a stem --
the pirate swings her booty
on the parade route
8 July 2010
fading amaryllis
the old woman scratches
a flea bite
20 September 2010
christmas bustle...
the homeless man tells me i win
the best-dressed award
26 December 2010
the pirate swings her booty
on the parade route
8 July 2010
fading amaryllis
the old woman scratches
a flea bite
20 September 2010
christmas bustle...
the homeless man tells me i win
the best-dressed award
26 December 2010
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxvi
A friend of mine showed me her newly cleaned car. She'd accomplished the task while her children were at dance class.
My car rarely gets a deep cleaning. Somehow, I never seem to get around to it.
spring sunshine
old parking vouchers litter
the dashboard
My children have piano lessons, a 2-hour window in which I can read or knit or work on my laptop. This week, armed with inspiration (also rags and a spray bottle of cleaning solution), I attacked the windows and washable sections of the interior. I swept the detritus off the dashboard, but couldn't quite reach the dead bee that has been riding with me for the past 4 years.
repeated arpeggios
a single dead bee faded
to sepia
I cleaned the outer windows, the driver's door, the dashboard, the steering wheel and instrument panel. My cleaning cloths were thick with dust. I leaned forward to wipe the windshield.
mozart sonata
the sudden blare
of a car horn
I jumped back. The horn kept blaring, so I tapped it to get it to stop. I leaned forward again, careful not to press against the steering wheel. The horn sounded again.
“Oh great,” I thought, “I'm interrupting their piano lesson.”
I walked around the car to attack the windshield from the passenger seat.
floating melody
the insistent monotone
from the horn
The horn was in its groove now. I'd tap the horn to get it to shut up, and three seconds later, it started singing again.
I was getting more and more agitated, knowing that the sound would be irritating to the pianists. I envisioned driving home with a blaring horn.
light spring clouds
no visible signs
of a fuse box
My son came out to see why I'd flipped out and was leaning on the car horn. I instructed him to stop the horn for me while I hunted for the fusebox. The horn had been blaring off and on for about 15 minutes by this time. With my son hitting the horn every 5 seconds or so to stop its incessant noise, I was able to do a more thorough search for the fuse box.
I knew I knew where the fuse box in this car was; I just didn't remember where it was.
Finally, the horn gave us a breather. I popped the hood and instructed my son to go forward and see if he could see any signs of where the fuse box had to be.
As soon as he went, I remembered. I popped the lid on the dash and regarded the fuse box, with one particular fuse helpfully labeled HORN.
hand on the fuse
the notes of stargazing clear
in the sunshine
I left the fuse in place and closed the fuse box. I finished cleaning out the interior of the car, no longer so enchanted with the idea of cleaning out the car during piano lessons.
deep sigh
at least the windows
are sparkling
25 March 2010
My car rarely gets a deep cleaning. Somehow, I never seem to get around to it.
spring sunshine
old parking vouchers litter
the dashboard
My children have piano lessons, a 2-hour window in which I can read or knit or work on my laptop. This week, armed with inspiration (also rags and a spray bottle of cleaning solution), I attacked the windows and washable sections of the interior. I swept the detritus off the dashboard, but couldn't quite reach the dead bee that has been riding with me for the past 4 years.
repeated arpeggios
a single dead bee faded
to sepia
I cleaned the outer windows, the driver's door, the dashboard, the steering wheel and instrument panel. My cleaning cloths were thick with dust. I leaned forward to wipe the windshield.
mozart sonata
the sudden blare
of a car horn
I jumped back. The horn kept blaring, so I tapped it to get it to stop. I leaned forward again, careful not to press against the steering wheel. The horn sounded again.
“Oh great,” I thought, “I'm interrupting their piano lesson.”
I walked around the car to attack the windshield from the passenger seat.
floating melody
the insistent monotone
from the horn
The horn was in its groove now. I'd tap the horn to get it to shut up, and three seconds later, it started singing again.
I was getting more and more agitated, knowing that the sound would be irritating to the pianists. I envisioned driving home with a blaring horn.
light spring clouds
no visible signs
of a fuse box
My son came out to see why I'd flipped out and was leaning on the car horn. I instructed him to stop the horn for me while I hunted for the fusebox. The horn had been blaring off and on for about 15 minutes by this time. With my son hitting the horn every 5 seconds or so to stop its incessant noise, I was able to do a more thorough search for the fuse box.
I knew I knew where the fuse box in this car was; I just didn't remember where it was.
Finally, the horn gave us a breather. I popped the hood and instructed my son to go forward and see if he could see any signs of where the fuse box had to be.
As soon as he went, I remembered. I popped the lid on the dash and regarded the fuse box, with one particular fuse helpfully labeled HORN.
hand on the fuse
the notes of stargazing clear
in the sunshine
I left the fuse in place and closed the fuse box. I finished cleaning out the interior of the car, no longer so enchanted with the idea of cleaning out the car during piano lessons.
deep sigh
at least the windows
are sparkling
25 March 2010
Monday, August 6, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxv
jazz club --
“i expect more than a kiss
on the second date”
20 March 2010
rain-swept mountain
he looks smaller and smaller
as he walks away
7 April 2010
vespers
the maples don
their summer vestments
10 May 2010
“i expect more than a kiss
on the second date”
20 March 2010
rain-swept mountain
he looks smaller and smaller
as he walks away
7 April 2010
vespers
the maples don
their summer vestments
10 May 2010
Sunday, August 5, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxiv
Weeks ago, I dreamed of a towering reef of black rock in the ocean,
with waterfalls running down the sheer cliff facing the land.
When I woke up, I thought, “Waterfalls in the sea... what an odd notion.”
Yesterday, we went for a walk on West Cliff in Santa Cruz. It was raining lightly, and the surf and tide were both high. Waves were breaking against and over tall black rocks with sheer cliffs facing the land.
Waterfalls flowed over the faces of the rocks and back into the ocean.
storm watch
waterfalls return the waves
to the sea
26 January 2010
When I woke up, I thought, “Waterfalls in the sea... what an odd notion.”
Yesterday, we went for a walk on West Cliff in Santa Cruz. It was raining lightly, and the surf and tide were both high. Waves were breaking against and over tall black rocks with sheer cliffs facing the land.
Waterfalls flowed over the faces of the rocks and back into the ocean.
storm watch
waterfalls return the waves
to the sea
26 January 2010
Saturday, August 4, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxiii
autumn light -
the empty swing moves
a little slower
autumn light -
the finch shakes water
off its tail
autumn light -
the sound of his dish cloth
on the mixing bowl
autumn light -
the septic tank truck trundles
up the road
autumn light -
fresh stain
on the front steps
autumn light -
she practices her dance moves
in the parking lot
autumn light -
weathered plastic skeletons
in the new dojo
autumn light -
the old poodle sighs
in his sleep
autumn light -
redwood duff
on the woodpile
autumn light -
dead jasmine branches
on the brush pile
3 October 2009
the empty swing moves
a little slower
autumn light -
the finch shakes water
off its tail
autumn light -
the sound of his dish cloth
on the mixing bowl
autumn light -
the septic tank truck trundles
up the road
autumn light -
fresh stain
on the front steps
autumn light -
she practices her dance moves
in the parking lot
autumn light -
weathered plastic skeletons
in the new dojo
autumn light -
the old poodle sighs
in his sleep
autumn light -
redwood duff
on the woodpile
autumn light -
dead jasmine branches
on the brush pile
3 October 2009
Friday, August 3, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxii
autumn chill
her long fingernails drum
with the rain
29 September 2009
gust front --
wet wool clothes huddle
on the drying racks
22 November 2009
crisp morning --
turning leaves in the depths
of the cow's eyes
25 September 2009
her long fingernails drum
with the rain
29 September 2009
gust front --
wet wool clothes huddle
on the drying racks
22 November 2009
crisp morning --
turning leaves in the depths
of the cow's eyes
25 September 2009
Thursday, August 2, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxi
The daily haiku exercise, with a twist:
arms akimbo --
a row of dumb bells
under the couch
arms akimbo --
the pan of tomato soup steaming
on the stove
arms akimbo --
a new jazz tune
on the radio
arms akimbo --
cracked glass
in the terrarium
arms akimbo --
booty moves
across the dance floor
arms akimbo --
a glass of water
on the sideboard
arms akimbo --
wet maple leaves
on the driveway
arms akimbo --
the steady ticking
of the bird clock
arms akimbo --
stars wink into view
in the evening sky
arms akimbo --
her newest baby looks at me
like I'm from mars
14 September 2009
arms akimbo --
a row of dumb bells
under the couch
arms akimbo --
the pan of tomato soup steaming
on the stove
arms akimbo --
a new jazz tune
on the radio
arms akimbo --
cracked glass
in the terrarium
arms akimbo --
booty moves
across the dance floor
arms akimbo --
a glass of water
on the sideboard
arms akimbo --
wet maple leaves
on the driveway
arms akimbo --
the steady ticking
of the bird clock
arms akimbo --
stars wink into view
in the evening sky
arms akimbo --
her newest baby looks at me
like I'm from mars
14 September 2009
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
haiku retrospective cdx
fall check-up --
she searches for ducks' feet
among the knotholes
14 September 2009
blue skies --
a raspberry seed caught
in my molar
16 September 2009
autumn chill
a faint rainbow
in the shower
21 September 2009
she searches for ducks' feet
among the knotholes
14 September 2009
blue skies --
a raspberry seed caught
in my molar
16 September 2009
autumn chill
a faint rainbow
in the shower
21 September 2009
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
haiku retrospective cdix
harvest party
remnants of a tropical storm
for dessert
harvest party
cold ratatouille
on pita
harvest party
the steady drone
of the bees
harvest party
a mixed bouquet of friends
on the deck
harvest party
she hides a yawn
behind her hand
harvest party
she dances seductively
with her shadow
harvest party
the leaves whisper
as they fall
harvest party
the dahlias a bit
past their prime
harvest party
thin clouds move across
the sun
harvest party
a shriek of laughter
from the pool
12 September 2009
remnants of a tropical storm
for dessert
harvest party
cold ratatouille
on pita
harvest party
the steady drone
of the bees
harvest party
a mixed bouquet of friends
on the deck
harvest party
she hides a yawn
behind her hand
harvest party
she dances seductively
with her shadow
harvest party
the leaves whisper
as they fall
harvest party
the dahlias a bit
past their prime
harvest party
thin clouds move across
the sun
harvest party
a shriek of laughter
from the pool
12 September 2009
Monday, July 30, 2012
haiku retrospective cdviii
september heat
the boy swings slowly,
one hand on the chain
11 September 2009
indian summer
the plodding notes
of the piano student
11 September 2009
autumn sunset
his widow pushes
the empty wheelchair
12 September 2009
the boy swings slowly,
one hand on the chain
11 September 2009
indian summer
the plodding notes
of the piano student
11 September 2009
autumn sunset
his widow pushes
the empty wheelchair
12 September 2009
Sunday, July 29, 2012
haiku retrospective cdvii
Another daily haiku exercise
heat wave --
ice cream piled high
in her cart
heat wave --
the knife pierces the skin
of the cucumber
heat wave --
the soft slow chatter
of the scrub birds
heat wave --
the woodcutter sings
a beach boys tune
heat wave --
a little pinkish water all that's left
of the raspberries
heat wave --
staccato whispers as they wrap
birthday presents
heat wave --
firewood stacked neatly
in the drive
heat wave --
the swings in the playground
so still
heat wave --
the sudden thump of his fist
against the desk
heat wave --
another day on a rock sailing
through space
10 September 2009
heat wave --
ice cream piled high
in her cart
heat wave --
the knife pierces the skin
of the cucumber
heat wave --
the soft slow chatter
of the scrub birds
heat wave --
the woodcutter sings
a beach boys tune
heat wave --
a little pinkish water all that's left
of the raspberries
heat wave --
staccato whispers as they wrap
birthday presents
heat wave --
firewood stacked neatly
in the drive
heat wave --
the swings in the playground
so still
heat wave --
the sudden thump of his fist
against the desk
heat wave --
another day on a rock sailing
through space
10 September 2009
Saturday, July 28, 2012
haiku retrospective cdvi
tongues of flame --
his steady gaze draws me
closer
8 September 2009
morning light
his lips wake slowly
against mine
8 September 2009
morning routine
her hips move wildly
on the dance floor
11 September 2009
his steady gaze draws me
closer
8 September 2009
morning light
his lips wake slowly
against mine
8 September 2009
morning routine
her hips move wildly
on the dance floor
11 September 2009
Friday, July 27, 2012
haiku retrospective cdv
Can I make this one right?
wildfire --
forehead against the dashboard
she weeps
Or should it be?
she weeps
forehead against the dashboard --
wildfire
weeping
forehead against the dashboard --
fire season
another wildfire --
she weeps, her forehead pressed
against the dashboard
forehead
against the dashboard
she weeps
I can't seem to get rid of the inversion and keep "forehead against the dashboard," which is the image on which the haiku is based.
wildfire --
she presses her forehead hard
against the dashboard
And no, she's not weeping because of the wildfire.
3 September 2009
wildfire --
forehead against the dashboard
she weeps
Or should it be?
she weeps
forehead against the dashboard --
wildfire
weeping
forehead against the dashboard --
fire season
another wildfire --
she weeps, her forehead pressed
against the dashboard
forehead
against the dashboard
she weeps
I can't seem to get rid of the inversion and keep "forehead against the dashboard," which is the image on which the haiku is based.
wildfire --
she presses her forehead hard
against the dashboard
And no, she's not weeping because of the wildfire.
3 September 2009
Thursday, July 26, 2012
haiku retrospective cdiv
sawdust in the sun
three staccato barks
from the black poodle
24 June 2009
cottonwood shade
she pulls the stinger out
of a dirty foot
12 August 2009
ripsaws cooling --
the vintage logger chugs
a long-necked beer
4 September 2009
three staccato barks
from the black poodle
24 June 2009
cottonwood shade
she pulls the stinger out
of a dirty foot
12 August 2009
ripsaws cooling --
the vintage logger chugs
a long-necked beer
4 September 2009
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
haiku retrospective cdiii
haloed moon--
the stiff beach plants huddle
against the dunes
6 January 2009
january laundry--
the dainty bess rose spreads
its pink petals
8 January 2009
river dance
the willows kick up
their petticoats
24 June 2009
the stiff beach plants huddle
against the dunes
6 January 2009
january laundry--
the dainty bess rose spreads
its pink petals
8 January 2009
river dance
the willows kick up
their petticoats
24 June 2009
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
haiku retrospective cdii
gift wrap counter--
a woman dressed up
for a funeral
24 December 2007
december clouds--
unspoken words fill
his eyes
28 December 2007
autumn leaves--
ravens feed
on a dead skunk
8 October 2008
a woman dressed up
for a funeral
24 December 2007
december clouds--
unspoken words fill
his eyes
28 December 2007
autumn leaves--
ravens feed
on a dead skunk
8 October 2008
Monday, July 23, 2012
haiku retrospective cdi
windblown clouds
the late movie crowd drifts
past the darkened shops
15 April 2007
humid morning
another piece of the pirate ship
snaps into place
5 June 2007
yellowing grass
a line of new fence posts
beside the old fence
5 June 2007
the late movie crowd drifts
past the darkened shops
15 April 2007
humid morning
another piece of the pirate ship
snaps into place
5 June 2007
yellowing grass
a line of new fence posts
beside the old fence
5 June 2007
Sunday, July 22, 2012
haiku retrospective cd
Hello anyone who has followed this blog this far.
Today is the 400th post in the haiku retrospective series that I started in January 2011 and expected to last for a few months.
Obviously, I have written a lot more haiku than I believed I had.
It seems fitting to mark this occasion with a time when I did Tim Russell's haiku exercise. You put a short seasonal reference in line 1, and then jot down a series of observations to serve as line 2. Repeat until you have 10 haiku.
Put the haiku in a drawer and do the exercise again tomorrow.
march flies
the knot hole
in the stair rail
march flies
an empty circle of chairs
on the porch
march flies
a cello sonata drifts
through the dusk
march flies
the repeated thud
of an axe
march flies
a trail of golden sap
on the tree trunk
march flies
the rustle of a Stellar's jay
in the live oak
march flies
spanish moss hangs
from the tree limbs
march flies
the young tanoak
so still
march flies
the scolding of the jays
across the canyon
march flies
the soft heads
of last year's velvet grass
march flies
jesse comes up the trail
with a sledgehammer
17 March 2007
Today is the 400th post in the haiku retrospective series that I started in January 2011 and expected to last for a few months.
Obviously, I have written a lot more haiku than I believed I had.
It seems fitting to mark this occasion with a time when I did Tim Russell's haiku exercise. You put a short seasonal reference in line 1, and then jot down a series of observations to serve as line 2. Repeat until you have 10 haiku.
Put the haiku in a drawer and do the exercise again tomorrow.
march flies
the knot hole
in the stair rail
march flies
an empty circle of chairs
on the porch
march flies
a cello sonata drifts
through the dusk
march flies
the repeated thud
of an axe
march flies
a trail of golden sap
on the tree trunk
march flies
the rustle of a Stellar's jay
in the live oak
march flies
spanish moss hangs
from the tree limbs
march flies
the young tanoak
so still
march flies
the scolding of the jays
across the canyon
march flies
the soft heads
of last year's velvet grass
march flies
jesse comes up the trail
with a sledgehammer
17 March 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxcix
march sunshine
drops of sap
on the old stump
march sunshine
the drone of horse flies
in the trees
march sunshine
the distant call
of a robin
march sunshine
the tap-tap-tapping
of an acorn woodpecker
march sunshine
spiderwebs all the way up
the redwood's trunk
march sunshine
tender red shoots
on the scrub oak
march sunshine
the fiddle tune climbs
the mountain
march sunshine
spanish moss
on the fallen oak branch
march sunshine
the treetops so still
against the blue sky
march sunshine
crushed petals
under the tulip tree
17 March 2007
drops of sap
on the old stump
march sunshine
the drone of horse flies
in the trees
march sunshine
the distant call
of a robin
march sunshine
the tap-tap-tapping
of an acorn woodpecker
march sunshine
spiderwebs all the way up
the redwood's trunk
march sunshine
tender red shoots
on the scrub oak
march sunshine
the fiddle tune climbs
the mountain
march sunshine
spanish moss
on the fallen oak branch
march sunshine
the treetops so still
against the blue sky
march sunshine
crushed petals
under the tulip tree
17 March 2007
Friday, July 20, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxcviii
windblown poppies
a black poodle prances
into the party
14 April 2007
spring rain
a potted calla lily
in the garden bed
14 April 2007
seabird cries --
the small boy scratches
his sunburnt nose
15 May 2007
a black poodle prances
into the party
14 April 2007
spring rain
a potted calla lily
in the garden bed
14 April 2007
seabird cries --
the small boy scratches
his sunburnt nose
15 May 2007
Thursday, July 19, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxcvii
black ice --
the oncology report
in dad's hands
black ice --
dad's lymphocyte count
in stark blue ink
black ice --
dad's blood test results
on the passenger seat
black ice --
mom takes dad's test results
with trembling hands
black ice --
dad's voice wavers as he tells me
he's dying
“Black ice” is a good strong image that resonates deeply for me right now.
I've struggled at times with wanting to get medical terminology into haiku but finding the words too long to fit. Sometimes it feels appropriate to stretch the form a bit to get the exact word in. Words like “oncology report” or “carcinoma” have a lot of emotional resonance, and lesser words sometimes won't carry that freight.
winter sea --
my dad tells me he feels great peace
during radiation
23 January 2007
the oncology report
in dad's hands
black ice --
dad's lymphocyte count
in stark blue ink
black ice --
dad's blood test results
on the passenger seat
black ice --
mom takes dad's test results
with trembling hands
black ice --
dad's voice wavers as he tells me
he's dying
“Black ice” is a good strong image that resonates deeply for me right now.
I've struggled at times with wanting to get medical terminology into haiku but finding the words too long to fit. Sometimes it feels appropriate to stretch the form a bit to get the exact word in. Words like “oncology report” or “carcinoma” have a lot of emotional resonance, and lesser words sometimes won't carry that freight.
winter sea --
my dad tells me he feels great peace
during radiation
23 January 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxcvi
frosty morning --
another child starts in
with whooping cough
22 January 2007
hunger moon
another entry
in her diet journal
5 February 2007
easter photos
the freshly brushed poodle
rolls in the grass
13 April 2007
another child starts in
with whooping cough
22 January 2007
hunger moon
another entry
in her diet journal
5 February 2007
easter photos
the freshly brushed poodle
rolls in the grass
13 April 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxcv
winter twilight--
a crumpled pile of handkerchiefs
by his chair
21 January 2007
black ice--
dad's last radiation
treatment
21 January 2007
wind-rattled leaves--
the dog wags his tail
at the door
21 January 2007
a crumpled pile of handkerchiefs
by his chair
21 January 2007
black ice--
dad's last radiation
treatment
21 January 2007
wind-rattled leaves--
the dog wags his tail
at the door
21 January 2007
Monday, July 16, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxciv
november calm
he casts his fishing lure deep
in the outfield grass
first frost
the reflection of my nose
in my tea cup
lingering leaves
the man with einstein hair
zips his jacket
starting over
a pan of burnt rice
in the sink
4 December 2006
he casts his fishing lure deep
in the outfield grass
first frost
the reflection of my nose
in my tea cup
lingering leaves
the man with einstein hair
zips his jacket
starting over
a pan of burnt rice
in the sink
4 December 2006
Sunday, July 15, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxciii
mountain cabin --
the voices of people hidden
by the night
8 September 2006
amaryllis in bloom --
he plays the same two measures
over and over
13 September 2006
indian summer --
an unsealed letter
on the table
13 September 2006
the voices of people hidden
by the night
8 September 2006
amaryllis in bloom --
he plays the same two measures
over and over
13 September 2006
indian summer --
an unsealed letter
on the table
13 September 2006
Saturday, July 14, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxcii
dry heat --
a faint scent of jasmine
from the balcony
17 August 2006
august twilight --
their moving van crosses
the bridge
17 August 2006
distant thunder --
a volley of green walnuts
from the tree fort
23 August 2006
a faint scent of jasmine
from the balcony
17 August 2006
august twilight --
their moving van crosses
the bridge
17 August 2006
distant thunder --
a volley of green walnuts
from the tree fort
23 August 2006
Friday, July 13, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxci
fog glare --
the sweep of the string mop
on the wood floor
16 August 2006
august heat --
the boy holds a wine glass
full of cherry cider
16 August 2006
fossil hunt --
a crawdad scuttles
along the river bottom
16 August 2006
the sweep of the string mop
on the wood floor
16 August 2006
august heat --
the boy holds a wine glass
full of cherry cider
16 August 2006
fossil hunt --
a crawdad scuttles
along the river bottom
16 August 2006
Thursday, July 12, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxc
104 in the shade --
the dog twists round to face
the other direction
24 July 2006
august dusk --
a mountain lion rests
in the playground
16 August 2006
summer fog --
two boys swing sticks
through the ivy
16 August 2006
the dog twists round to face
the other direction
24 July 2006
august dusk --
a mountain lion rests
in the playground
16 August 2006
summer fog --
two boys swing sticks
through the ivy
16 August 2006
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxxxix
still june night --
a truck rumbles slowly
up the road
30 June 2006
first light --
baby stellers jays screech
for their breakfast
30 June 2006
night on the town --
the scent of mackerel
on the fog
12 July 2006
a truck rumbles slowly
up the road
30 June 2006
first light --
baby stellers jays screech
for their breakfast
30 June 2006
night on the town --
the scent of mackerel
on the fog
12 July 2006
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxxxviii
hot afternoon --
the baby's head lolls
against your breast
19 June 2006
heat wave --
poison hemlock among the prize dahlias
20 June 2006
morning sun --
a call from the hospital
where he's dying
30 June 2006
the baby's head lolls
against your breast
19 June 2006
heat wave --
poison hemlock among the prize dahlias
20 June 2006
morning sun --
a call from the hospital
where he's dying
30 June 2006
Sunday, July 1, 2012
hiku retrospective ccclxxxvii
summer haze --
he sprawls in the chair with his socks
in his lap
31 May 2006
june --
april and may march
with julia's august father
h(reluctant to sign this one)mm
5 June 2006
rose's june --
april and julia may march forth
with august september strides
h(why be hung for a lamb?)mm
fresh peaches --
the wet print of his body
on the pool deck
Or, since some people get so much mileage out of the second person:
fresh peaches --
the wet print of your body
on the pool deck
5 June 2006
he sprawls in the chair with his socks
in his lap
31 May 2006
june --
april and may march
with julia's august father
h(reluctant to sign this one)mm
5 June 2006
rose's june --
april and julia may march forth
with august september strides
h(why be hung for a lamb?)mm
fresh peaches --
the wet print of his body
on the pool deck
Or, since some people get so much mileage out of the second person:
fresh peaches --
the wet print of your body
on the pool deck
5 June 2006
Saturday, June 30, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxxxvi
wuthering wind
the smooth young bark
of the eucalyptus
cold frame
calla lilies bow
in the wind
bent grass
the dark maroon petals
of the bearded iris
cut flowers
evening sunshine flickers
on the damask chair
evening wind
a cone of light surrounds
the old gas stove
flaking paint
bunches of herbs hang
upside down
disconnected telephone
the wavy glass in the farmhouse
windows
cast iron pans
a chrysanthemum petal
on kwan yin's nose
26 May 2006
the smooth young bark
of the eucalyptus
cold frame
calla lilies bow
in the wind
bent grass
the dark maroon petals
of the bearded iris
cut flowers
evening sunshine flickers
on the damask chair
evening wind
a cone of light surrounds
the old gas stove
flaking paint
bunches of herbs hang
upside down
disconnected telephone
the wavy glass in the farmhouse
windows
cast iron pans
a chrysanthemum petal
on kwan yin's nose
26 May 2006
Thursday, June 28, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxxxiv
may roses
a spider scoots along
its silken thread
10 May 2006
lunch break --
the scent of apple blossoms
in the sunshine
13 May 2006
weekly planner --
a hint of coolness
in the evening air
14 May 2006
a spider scoots along
its silken thread
10 May 2006
lunch break --
the scent of apple blossoms
in the sunshine
13 May 2006
weekly planner --
a hint of coolness
in the evening air
14 May 2006
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxxxiii
april stars --
two brass buttons
on the nightstand
21 April 2006
potted marigolds --
a thin layer of algae
on the chaise longue
21 April 2006
wind chimes --
maple catkins heavy
on slender twigs
21 April 2006
two brass buttons
on the nightstand
21 April 2006
potted marigolds --
a thin layer of algae
on the chaise longue
21 April 2006
wind chimes --
maple catkins heavy
on slender twigs
21 April 2006
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxxxii
flood --
a pregnant doe browses
the huckleberry
19 April 2006
morning sunshine --
the cracked bell chimes
its note
20 April 2006
flute song --
the faint scent
of the easter lily
20 April 2006
a pregnant doe browses
the huckleberry
19 April 2006
morning sunshine --
the cracked bell chimes
its note
20 April 2006
flute song --
the faint scent
of the easter lily
20 April 2006
Monday, June 25, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxxxi
drenching rain
a stellers jay adds another twig
to its nest
5 April 2006
hearty amen --
the congregation makes a beeline
for the hot cross buns
14 April 2006
Easter Sunday --
a chocolate banana slug
in the cineraria
16 April 2006
a stellers jay adds another twig
to its nest
5 April 2006
hearty amen --
the congregation makes a beeline
for the hot cross buns
14 April 2006
Easter Sunday --
a chocolate banana slug
in the cineraria
16 April 2006
Sunday, June 24, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxxx
blades of grass
the would-be haiku warriors tilt
at windmills
spring drizzle
another robin sings
the same old song
3 April 2006
deserted highway --
wind-driven rain pummels
the new maple leaves
4 April 2006
the would-be haiku warriors tilt
at windmills
spring drizzle
another robin sings
the same old song
3 April 2006
deserted highway --
wind-driven rain pummels
the new maple leaves
4 April 2006
Saturday, June 23, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxxix
spring fever
the sun sets on the mountain
where he lives
30 March 2006
night rain --
a raccoon slurps water
from the wading pool
30 March 2006
ribbed saguaro
a line of fluff balls follows
the quail
30 March 2006
the sun sets on the mountain
where he lives
30 March 2006
night rain --
a raccoon slurps water
from the wading pool
30 March 2006
ribbed saguaro
a line of fluff balls follows
the quail
30 March 2006
haiku retrospective ccclxxxv
evening break --
the late spring roses
faded white
18 May 2006
broken bottle --
the empty swing sways
in the breeze
25 May 2006
last call --
the first sip of his fourth
harvey wallbanger
27 May 2006
the late spring roses
faded white
18 May 2006
broken bottle --
the empty swing sways
in the breeze
25 May 2006
last call --
the first sip of his fourth
harvey wallbanger
27 May 2006
Sunday, June 10, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxxviii
fine rain --
a faded plastic flower
on the window
dusty crystal --
rains keeps falling
on the flattened grass
new growth --
rodent droppings
on the window sill
28 March 2006
a faded plastic flower
on the window
dusty crystal --
rains keeps falling
on the flattened grass
new growth --
rodent droppings
on the window sill
28 March 2006
Saturday, June 9, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxxvii
silent worship
my heart gets up and dances
across the room
25 March 2006
spring rain
the new woman seems too small
for your chair
28 March 2006
spring breeze --
small fingers trace the shape
of the moon hare
28 March 2006
my heart gets up and dances
across the room
25 March 2006
spring rain
the new woman seems too small
for your chair
28 March 2006
spring breeze --
small fingers trace the shape
of the moon hare
28 March 2006
Friday, June 8, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxxvi
lowering sky
a dark-eyed junco pauses
on the woodpile
16 March 2006
break in the clouds --
i try to write a haiku with
mayonnaise
16 March 2006
morning rain
the tea kettle
boils over
20 March 2006
a dark-eyed junco pauses
on the woodpile
16 March 2006
break in the clouds --
i try to write a haiku with
mayonnaise
16 March 2006
morning rain
the tea kettle
boils over
20 March 2006
Thursday, June 7, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxxv
mixed rain and sleet
the hothouse rose drops
another petal
22 February 2006
distant siren
the hurricane lantern swings
on its hook
27 February 2006
blue sky
a patch of snow in the shade
of the cedars
11 March 2006
the hothouse rose drops
another petal
22 February 2006
distant siren
the hurricane lantern swings
on its hook
27 February 2006
blue sky
a patch of snow in the shade
of the cedars
11 March 2006
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxxiv
cold basement --
just put the christmas tree stand
next to the crutches
falling wood smoke --
a crooked stack of boxes
on the shop shelf
january sunshine --
a little fir tree leans
against the fir stump
sunlit raindrop --
scattered redwood fronds
on the brown tarp
paper snowflakes --
a little redwood wreathed
in wood smoke
grass sprouts --
the weathered slats
of the compost bin
january sunshine --
the little boy puts on
a pair of shorts
8 January 2006
just put the christmas tree stand
next to the crutches
falling wood smoke --
a crooked stack of boxes
on the shop shelf
january sunshine --
a little fir tree leans
against the fir stump
sunlit raindrop --
scattered redwood fronds
on the brown tarp
paper snowflakes --
a little redwood wreathed
in wood smoke
grass sprouts --
the weathered slats
of the compost bin
january sunshine --
the little boy puts on
a pair of shorts
8 January 2006
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxxiii
nightfall --
shooting stars
on the power lines
6 January 2006
winter night --
the linemen's floodlights glow
in the fog
6 January 2006
watercolor sky --
the leafless sycamore trembles
in the breeze
12 January 2006
shooting stars
on the power lines
6 January 2006
winter night --
the linemen's floodlights glow
in the fog
6 January 2006
watercolor sky --
the leafless sycamore trembles
in the breeze
12 January 2006
Monday, June 4, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxxii
January--
the health club crowded
with resolutions
2 January 2006
late december --
my son's new year's resolution is
1680 X 1050
2 January 2006
gray dusk --
new speed bumps in the road
to my old school
3 January 2006
the health club crowded
with resolutions
2 January 2006
late december --
my son's new year's resolution is
1680 X 1050
2 January 2006
gray dusk --
new speed bumps in the road
to my old school
3 January 2006
Sunday, June 3, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxxi
christmas break --
sniffly kids wrapped in quilts
by the fire
23 December 2005
presents --
the calico cat settles herself
on the hood of the car
25 December 2005
new year --
the slow march of raindrops
on the roof
2 January 2006
sniffly kids wrapped in quilts
by the fire
23 December 2005
presents --
the calico cat settles herself
on the hood of the car
25 December 2005
new year --
the slow march of raindrops
on the roof
2 January 2006
Saturday, June 2, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxx
drawn shades --
the suncatcher swings
on its chain
14 December 2005
solstice ::
the candle in the putt-putt boat
goes out
20 December 2005
early winter --
a fixed smile
on her new face
21 December 2005
the suncatcher swings
on its chain
14 December 2005
solstice ::
the candle in the putt-putt boat
goes out
20 December 2005
early winter --
a fixed smile
on her new face
21 December 2005
Friday, June 1, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxix
This started with an online discussion with my friend Jennie over an attempt to write a haiku to express a particular moment in her life. The discussion evolved to a playful series of haiku about haiku failures.
winter wind --
she uses her failed haiku
to start the fire
(And that's not, either)
christmas muzac --
pale sunshine skims the tops
of the trees
This started as something like:
christmas muzac --
the pale sunshine can't make it
through the trees
or
christmas muzac --
the pale sunshine can't penetrate
the trees
or
christmas muzac --
the stubborn sunshine won't filter
through the trees
Winter sunshine is so weak and anemic compared to the summer variety. I feel like I live in a dark hollow under all these trees when the days are short.
Have a lovely weekend, Jennie.
christmas muzac --
no sign of the sun
in the mall
9 December 2005
winter wind --
she uses her failed haiku
to start the fire
(And that's not, either)
christmas muzac --
pale sunshine skims the tops
of the trees
This started as something like:
christmas muzac --
the pale sunshine can't make it
through the trees
or
christmas muzac --
the pale sunshine can't penetrate
the trees
or
christmas muzac --
the stubborn sunshine won't filter
through the trees
Winter sunshine is so weak and anemic compared to the summer variety. I feel like I live in a dark hollow under all these trees when the days are short.
Have a lovely weekend, Jennie.
christmas muzac --
no sign of the sun
in the mall
9 December 2005
Thursday, May 31, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxviii
A cinquain.
I thought
I was in love
but my heart was only
beating faster because I was
afraid
I thought
I was in love
but my heart was only
beating faster because I was
afraid
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxvii
gray thanksgiving
an outburst of laughter
from the kitchen
24 November 2005
winter twilight
the warmth of his back
against mine
26 November 2005
first raindrops --
the small boy hangs
on his brother's leg
30 November 2005
an outburst of laughter
from the kitchen
24 November 2005
winter twilight
the warmth of his back
against mine
26 November 2005
first raindrops --
the small boy hangs
on his brother's leg
30 November 2005
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxvi
breaking waves --
my daughter tries to catch the wind
in her hands
22 November 2005
country road --
the crowns of the madrones heavy
with orange berries
22 November 2005
november sunshine
the taste of lemon pepper
on my lips
23 November 2005
my daughter tries to catch the wind
in her hands
22 November 2005
country road --
the crowns of the madrones heavy
with orange berries
22 November 2005
november sunshine
the taste of lemon pepper
on my lips
23 November 2005
Monday, May 28, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxlv
Hooray! This marks the 365th post in the haiku retrospective that I began to celebrate my 50th birthday. Thus far, the retrospective contains roughly 1100 haiku.
ragged leaves --
where do cockroaches keep
their ears?
20 November 2005
dark water
the halyards slap
against the mast
20 November 2005
november darkness
tree shadows flicker
across the frosted glass
20 November 2005
ragged leaves --
where do cockroaches keep
their ears?
20 November 2005
dark water
the halyards slap
against the mast
20 November 2005
november darkness
tree shadows flicker
across the frosted glass
20 November 2005
Sunday, May 27, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxiv
waning moon
the skunk waddles
down the slope
19 November 2005
tree shadows
the coyote's ears lie
close to its head
19 November 2005
shreds of cloud
the raccoon scampers off
carrying a corn cob
19 November 2005
the skunk waddles
down the slope
19 November 2005
tree shadows
the coyote's ears lie
close to its head
19 November 2005
shreds of cloud
the raccoon scampers off
carrying a corn cob
19 November 2005
Saturday, May 26, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxiii
cold snap
the refrigerator freezes
the lettuce
19 November 2005
sunrise
two boys squabble
under the comforter
19 November 2005
quivering hesitancy
the mouse twitches her nose
before eating the cat's cheese
19 November 2005
the refrigerator freezes
the lettuce
19 November 2005
sunrise
two boys squabble
under the comforter
19 November 2005
quivering hesitancy
the mouse twitches her nose
before eating the cat's cheese
19 November 2005
Friday, May 25, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclxii
indian summer --
the ceiling fan creaks
on startup
15 November 2005
evening breeze --
the pedant picks
her nose
15 November 2005
banked fire ~
moon shadows
on the bedroom wall
19 November 2005
the ceiling fan creaks
on startup
15 November 2005
evening breeze --
the pedant picks
her nose
15 November 2005
banked fire ~
moon shadows
on the bedroom wall
19 November 2005
Thursday, May 24, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxli
yellow ribbons --
the fat man pumps gas
into his SUV
11 November 2005
veterans' day --
the former green beret hides
in his barn
12 November 2005
contrails --
a coyote lollops
across the road
15 November 2005
the fat man pumps gas
into his SUV
11 November 2005
veterans' day --
the former green beret hides
in his barn
12 November 2005
contrails --
a coyote lollops
across the road
15 November 2005
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclx
storm clouds --
the woman separates
the squabbling boys
25 October 2005
time change --
the small boy laughs
at his own joke
30 October 2005
lingering clouds --
the scent of graphite
from the boys' drawings
30 October 2005
the woman separates
the squabbling boys
25 October 2005
time change --
the small boy laughs
at his own joke
30 October 2005
lingering clouds --
the scent of graphite
from the boys' drawings
30 October 2005
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclix
fitful breeze --
only a few yellow leaves left
on the maple
24 October 2005
morning rain --
yellow leaves in pieces
under the swings
25 October 2005
october clouds
grease stains in relief
on the highway
25 October 2005
only a few yellow leaves left
on the maple
24 October 2005
morning rain --
yellow leaves in pieces
under the swings
25 October 2005
october clouds
grease stains in relief
on the highway
25 October 2005
Monday, May 21, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclviii
autumn sunshine --
a spaceship explodes
on the carpet
22 September 2005
autumn haze --
a kingfisher comes to rest
on the oak snag
27 September 2005
morning stillness --
a squirrel scolds the man
raking walnuts
5 October 2005
a spaceship explodes
on the carpet
22 September 2005
autumn haze --
a kingfisher comes to rest
on the oak snag
27 September 2005
morning stillness --
a squirrel scolds the man
raking walnuts
5 October 2005
Sunday, May 20, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclvii
cricket song --
the woodpile tarp gleams
in the moonlight
19 September 2005
autumn clarity --
the spoon scrapes the bottom
of the tea tin
22 September 2005
fall morning --
two miniature knights agree
to fight the dragon
22 September 2005
the woodpile tarp gleams
in the moonlight
19 September 2005
autumn clarity --
the spoon scrapes the bottom
of the tea tin
22 September 2005
fall morning --
two miniature knights agree
to fight the dragon
22 September 2005
Saturday, May 19, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclvi
autumn memories --
well-worn boots crush
the brittle leaves
18 September 2005
autumn dreams --
a new range of hair colors
at the beauty parlor
18 September 2005
autumn night --
your fingers trace the shape
of my dreams
19 September 2005
well-worn boots crush
the brittle leaves
18 September 2005
autumn dreams --
a new range of hair colors
at the beauty parlor
18 September 2005
autumn night --
your fingers trace the shape
of my dreams
19 September 2005
Friday, May 18, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclv
end of summer --
the quail's topknot bobs
across the road
7 September 2005
end of summer --
the peahens ignore
the peacock
7 September 2005
sticky honeycomb --
a bee tumbles out
of the hibiscus
15 September 2005
the quail's topknot bobs
across the road
7 September 2005
end of summer --
the peahens ignore
the peacock
7 September 2005
sticky honeycomb --
a bee tumbles out
of the hibiscus
15 September 2005
Thursday, May 17, 2012
haiku retrospective cccliv
labor day --
another company cuts
health benefits
5 September 2005
approaching squall --
the bedraggled seagull grabs
a fish head
5 September 2005
clump! clump! clump!
these boots stomp the poetry
out of my soul
5 September 2005
another company cuts
health benefits
5 September 2005
approaching squall --
the bedraggled seagull grabs
a fish head
5 September 2005
clump! clump! clump!
these boots stomp the poetry
out of my soul
5 September 2005
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
haiku retrospective cccliii
presque vu --
the image of a solar eclipse
through a pinhole
29 August 2005
world view --
the duck's feet push
through the algae
29 August 2005
Labor Day heat --
he heaves the battered chainsaw
into the shed
5 September 2005
the image of a solar eclipse
through a pinhole
29 August 2005
world view --
the duck's feet push
through the algae
29 August 2005
Labor Day heat --
he heaves the battered chainsaw
into the shed
5 September 2005
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
haiku retrospective ccclii
ghost town --
the first raindrops raise
a little dust
loose shutter --
the first raindrops raise
a little dust
dry diggings --
the first raindrops raise
a little dust
empty cistern --
the first raindrops raise
a little dust
withered corn --
the first raindrops raise
a little dust
18 August 2005
the first raindrops raise
a little dust
loose shutter --
the first raindrops raise
a little dust
dry diggings --
the first raindrops raise
a little dust
empty cistern --
the first raindrops raise
a little dust
withered corn --
the first raindrops raise
a little dust
18 August 2005
Monday, May 14, 2012
haiku retrospective cccli
distant drought --
a butterfly weaves in and out
of the live oak
14 August 2005
august night --
the cricket's song keeps time
with the neighbor's stereo
19 August 2005
long cast --
the angler pulls a bass
out of the sunset
26 August 2005
a butterfly weaves in and out
of the live oak
14 August 2005
august night --
the cricket's song keeps time
with the neighbor's stereo
19 August 2005
long cast --
the angler pulls a bass
out of the sunset
26 August 2005
Sunday, May 13, 2012
haiku retrospective cccl
train whistle --
she skips another stone
across the creek
11 August 2005
summer fog --
he pulls his roll apart
before eating it
13 August 2005
summer stars --
my husband starts snoring
again
14 August 2005
she skips another stone
across the creek
11 August 2005
summer fog --
he pulls his roll apart
before eating it
13 August 2005
summer stars --
my husband starts snoring
again
14 August 2005
Saturday, May 12, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxlix
fleshy thighs --
the lithe girl lost
in my imagination
8 August 2005
endless summer --
another beach boys tune
on the oldies station
8 August 2005
light overcast --
a mourning dove lands
on the pigeon cage
9 August 2005
the lithe girl lost
in my imagination
8 August 2005
endless summer --
another beach boys tune
on the oldies station
8 August 2005
light overcast --
a mourning dove lands
on the pigeon cage
9 August 2005
Friday, May 11, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxlviii
Today's selection comes from a discussion of haiku rules and why it is important to use concrete images to create the haiku experience rather than resorting to imagination, abstractions, or judgements. The first selection is completely sarcastic in tone, but the next several are playfully meandering back to haiku-ness.
What we can see in our imagination is clearly superior to what we observe in the real world.
torn shadow --
a woman's heart flutters
in the breeze
Haiku by free association. No concrete images need apply.
7 August 2005
sword dancer --
her high-heeled shoe crosses
the line
7 August 2005
se rendre --
the shadows of the night
caress her
8 August 2005
What we can see in our imagination is clearly superior to what we observe in the real world.
torn shadow --
a woman's heart flutters
in the breeze
Haiku by free association. No concrete images need apply.
7 August 2005
sword dancer --
her high-heeled shoe crosses
the line
7 August 2005
se rendre --
the shadows of the night
caress her
8 August 2005
Thursday, May 10, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxlvii
My sons prefer to toss water wrapped in latex.
sudden rain --
a water balloon bursts
at his feet
It rained this morning, the remnants of a tropical storm in the Pacific. In my entire life, I don't think I've ever seen it rain in California in July. At first, I thought it was my neighbor's sprinkler, then I saw that it was watering my woodpile. Why, it was coming from the*sky*. Who woulda thunk?
worn work gloves --
the thunk-thunk-thunk of wet logs
hitting the woodpile
coffee break --
three stellers jays gossip
over the compost
21 July 2005
sudden rain --
a water balloon bursts
at his feet
It rained this morning, the remnants of a tropical storm in the Pacific. In my entire life, I don't think I've ever seen it rain in California in July. At first, I thought it was my neighbor's sprinkler, then I saw that it was watering my woodpile. Why, it was coming from the*sky*. Who woulda thunk?
worn work gloves --
the thunk-thunk-thunk of wet logs
hitting the woodpile
coffee break --
three stellers jays gossip
over the compost
21 July 2005
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxlvi
Check your towel before you get out, too. I once emerged from a
relaxing shower, wrapped myself in a thick terrycloth towel, and had
a brown recluse run down my leg.
A non-haiku tried to write me yesterday. I told it that there wasn't any way it would rise to haiku status. It grumbled a bit and subsided. You have given me courage to post it as a cinquain.
hindsight --
that fall I had
rollerblading backwards
lingers in my hip long after
you left
or...
hindsight --
that fall I had
rollerblading backwards
has stayed with me much longer than
you did
20 July 2005
A non-haiku tried to write me yesterday. I told it that there wasn't any way it would rise to haiku status. It grumbled a bit and subsided. You have given me courage to post it as a cinquain.
hindsight --
that fall I had
rollerblading backwards
lingers in my hip long after
you left
or...
hindsight --
that fall I had
rollerblading backwards
has stayed with me much longer than
you did
20 July 2005
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxlv
summer drought --
a line of cars creeps
through town
17 July 2005
shagging flies --
the shadow of a swallow
on the outfield grass
25 July 2005
no fog --
the crisp white trousers
of the mexican sailor
5 August 2005
a line of cars creeps
through town
17 July 2005
shagging flies --
the shadow of a swallow
on the outfield grass
25 July 2005
no fog --
the crisp white trousers
of the mexican sailor
5 August 2005
Sunday, March 18, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxliv
evening --
the scent of water
on asphalt
13 July 2005
high noon --
a milkweed wilts in the crotch
of the old oak
13 July 2005
summer dawn
a heavy silence hangs
in the still, warm air
14 July 2005
the scent of water
on asphalt
13 July 2005
high noon --
a milkweed wilts in the crotch
of the old oak
13 July 2005
summer dawn
a heavy silence hangs
in the still, warm air
14 July 2005
Saturday, March 17, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxliii
sea breeze
the peahens ignore
his shimmering tail
1 June 2005
bracken meadow
the distant clanking
of a cowbell
1 June 2005
the salt of his skin
a cloud of mosquitos
outside the tent
10 July 2005
the peahens ignore
his shimmering tail
1 June 2005
bracken meadow
the distant clanking
of a cowbell
1 June 2005
the salt of his skin
a cloud of mosquitos
outside the tent
10 July 2005
Friday, March 16, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxlii
hilltop cemetery --
a redtail hawk hovers
against the clouds
17 May 2005
scent of jasmine --
her crystal pendant brushes
her breast
20 May 2005
blue-eyed grass --
a hawk's shadow skims
the field
30 May 2005
a redtail hawk hovers
against the clouds
17 May 2005
scent of jasmine --
her crystal pendant brushes
her breast
20 May 2005
blue-eyed grass --
a hawk's shadow skims
the field
30 May 2005
Thursday, March 15, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxli
labor day --
another company cuts
health benefits
3 May 2005
labor day --
wondering how that teenage body
fit inside mine
3 May 2005
crowning moment --
wait! I've changed my mind
about having this baby!
3 May 2005
another company cuts
health benefits
3 May 2005
labor day --
wondering how that teenage body
fit inside mine
3 May 2005
crowning moment --
wait! I've changed my mind
about having this baby!
3 May 2005
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxl
moonlit walk --
tears splash down the baby's fat cheeks
dark trees sway --
oh baby! why won't you sleep?
motel path --
the baby keeps on screaming
2 May 2005
tears splash down the baby's fat cheeks
dark trees sway --
oh baby! why won't you sleep?
motel path --
the baby keeps on screaming
2 May 2005
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxxxix
crossed ski tips --
a pileated woodpecker
on the white fir
tap! tap! tap!
a nodding red crest
against bright green moss
breathing hard --
pull up a tree, woodpecker,
and stay awhile
wings blur --
the gentle sweep of the snow
falling from the treetops
a shared smile --
the stump, stump, stump of ski poles
on the uphill climb
30 April 2005
a pileated woodpecker
on the white fir
tap! tap! tap!
a nodding red crest
against bright green moss
breathing hard --
pull up a tree, woodpecker,
and stay awhile
wings blur --
the gentle sweep of the snow
falling from the treetops
a shared smile --
the stump, stump, stump of ski poles
on the uphill climb
30 April 2005
Monday, March 12, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxxxviii
distant thunder --
another iris opens
its petals
25 April 2005
high noon --
the calico cat opens
one eye
3 May 2005
buckbrush in bloom --
the mountains surge away
to meet the clouds
17 May 2005
another iris opens
its petals
25 April 2005
high noon --
the calico cat opens
one eye
3 May 2005
buckbrush in bloom --
the mountains surge away
to meet the clouds
17 May 2005
Sunday, March 11, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxxxvii
justice sunday --
his darkness matches
my light
24 April 2005
bridge party --
she eases her feet
out of her high heels
24 April 2005
hoeing potatoes --
an old down jacket
on the garden bench
24 April 2005
his darkness matches
my light
24 April 2005
bridge party --
she eases her feet
out of her high heels
24 April 2005
hoeing potatoes --
an old down jacket
on the garden bench
24 April 2005
Saturday, March 10, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxxxvi
winter harbor
a string of small boats
along the pier
snow-capped fence
hands close
around the earthen mug
winter haze
her lantern in the window
guides us home
bare trees
a trail of bread crumbs
in the yard
18 February 2005
a string of small boats
along the pier
snow-capped fence
hands close
around the earthen mug
winter haze
her lantern in the window
guides us home
bare trees
a trail of bread crumbs
in the yard
18 February 2005
Friday, March 9, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxxxv
dawn shadows
your kiss stirs me from the depths
of my dreams
8 September 2004
yard clean-up --
a raw wind flattens
the first iris
21 April 2005
spring breakup --
ten new gossip threads
on the fan blog
22 April 2005
your kiss stirs me from the depths
of my dreams
8 September 2004
yard clean-up --
a raw wind flattens
the first iris
21 April 2005
spring breakup --
ten new gossip threads
on the fan blog
22 April 2005
Thursday, March 8, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxxxiv
beach traffic
one tiny patent leather shoe
on the median
25 June 2004
a sip of buttermilk
the devil's food cake rises
in the oven
25 June 2004
4th of july
bill clinton's face
on the bookshop door
3 July 2004
one tiny patent leather shoe
on the median
25 June 2004
a sip of buttermilk
the devil's food cake rises
in the oven
25 June 2004
4th of july
bill clinton's face
on the bookshop door
3 July 2004
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxxxiii
stinging rebuke
the sudden clarity
of tears
11 May 2004
sullen afternoon
a burst of static
from the speakers
21 May 2004
virginia slims
she has the perfect face
for radio
21 May 2004
the sudden clarity
of tears
11 May 2004
sullen afternoon
a burst of static
from the speakers
21 May 2004
virginia slims
she has the perfect face
for radio
21 May 2004
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxxxii
green sister
brushing my brow
with leafy hands
11 May 2004
beach traffic
the tan heads of the grass
so still
11 May 2004
winding road
the knots in my thinking
untangle
19 May 2004
brushing my brow
with leafy hands
11 May 2004
beach traffic
the tan heads of the grass
so still
11 May 2004
winding road
the knots in my thinking
untangle
19 May 2004
Monday, March 5, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxxxi
day moon
cottonwoods shimmer
in the breeze
17 April 2004
distant hawk
a gust of cherry petals crosses the lawn
17 April 2004
hot flash
waves of starlight wash over my bare skin
24 April 2004
cottonwoods shimmer
in the breeze
17 April 2004
distant hawk
a gust of cherry petals crosses the lawn
17 April 2004
hot flash
waves of starlight wash over my bare skin
24 April 2004
Sunday, March 4, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxxx
blowing petals
the tree's shadow grows
a little longer
7 April 2004
day is done
poppies amidst the dying grass
7 April 2004
sudden breeze
a gnarled lilac
by the garden gate
7 April 2004
the tree's shadow grows
a little longer
7 April 2004
day is done
poppies amidst the dying grass
7 April 2004
sudden breeze
a gnarled lilac
by the garden gate
7 April 2004
Saturday, March 3, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxxix
wooded ridge
faded white lines
on the baseball diamond
5 April 2004
frog chorus
the slamming door
of the portapotty
5 April 2004
lost child
a dry toothbrush
in the rack
7 April 2004
faded white lines
on the baseball diamond
5 April 2004
frog chorus
the slamming door
of the portapotty
5 April 2004
lost child
a dry toothbrush
in the rack
7 April 2004
Friday, March 2, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxxviii
steep trail
the crowns of the firs rise
into the mist
silence and space
her smile welcomes me
to the room
silent worship
haloes surround
the trees
inner light
his feet trace
the stone labyrinth
waiting on god
the swish of the string mop
on cement
quaker charades
how do you act out
“discernment?”
fading taillights
another slow tick
in god's clock
4 April 2004
the crowns of the firs rise
into the mist
silence and space
her smile welcomes me
to the room
silent worship
haloes surround
the trees
inner light
his feet trace
the stone labyrinth
waiting on god
the swish of the string mop
on cement
quaker charades
how do you act out
“discernment?”
fading taillights
another slow tick
in god's clock
4 April 2004
Thursday, March 1, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxxvii
abandoned school
clover heads
on the ragged grass
3 April 2004
drifting oak pollen
an empty bottle
in the cyclone fence
3 April 2004
deserted playground
gnat trails crisscross
the sky
4 April 2004
clover heads
on the ragged grass
3 April 2004
drifting oak pollen
an empty bottle
in the cyclone fence
3 April 2004
deserted playground
gnat trails crisscross
the sky
4 April 2004
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxxvi
celtic harp
the first raindrops touch
my cheeks
13 February 2004
deep puddle
raindrops scatter the reflection
of the streetlight
20 February 2004
stone fountain
rust stains
in the empty bowl
3 April 2004
the first raindrops touch
my cheeks
13 February 2004
deep puddle
raindrops scatter the reflection
of the streetlight
20 February 2004
stone fountain
rust stains
in the empty bowl
3 April 2004
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxxv
wind-rippled trees
i open my mouth wider
for the dentist
9 February 2004
prayer group
eight candle flames flicker
with our breath
10 February 2004
evening stillness
he cups a baby hedgehog
in his hands
10 February 2004
i open my mouth wider
for the dentist
9 February 2004
prayer group
eight candle flames flicker
with our breath
10 February 2004
evening stillness
he cups a baby hedgehog
in his hands
10 February 2004
Monday, February 27, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxxiv
winter party
a few crumbs left
in the brownie pan
15 December 2003
dusk shadows
the murmur of the creek
along the quiet road
21 January 2004
robin song
fresh rainwater
in the weed-choked ditch
21 January 2004
a few crumbs left
in the brownie pan
15 December 2003
dusk shadows
the murmur of the creek
along the quiet road
21 January 2004
robin song
fresh rainwater
in the weed-choked ditch
21 January 2004
Sunday, February 26, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxxiii
bare maple twigs
a stellers jay glides
from tree to tree
5 December 2003
a novel of ideas
the dog-eared pages reveal
cookie crumbs
15 December 2003
silent worship
the sound of her body
hitting the concrete
15 December 2003
a stellers jay glides
from tree to tree
5 December 2003
a novel of ideas
the dog-eared pages reveal
cookie crumbs
15 December 2003
silent worship
the sound of her body
hitting the concrete
15 December 2003
Saturday, February 25, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxxii
bare trees
her distracted voice
long distance
3 December 2003
new grass
the jack-o-lantern grins
from the compost
3 December 2003
new grass
a rat scurries
under the woodpile
5 December 2003
her distracted voice
long distance
3 December 2003
new grass
the jack-o-lantern grins
from the compost
3 December 2003
new grass
a rat scurries
under the woodpile
5 December 2003
Saturday, February 18, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxxi
old fiddle
the first hint of color
in the steeping tea
24 November 2003
forest trail
cigarette smoke
in the parking lot
24 November 2003
blowing leaves
his eyes flick back
to his newspaper
2 December 2003
the first hint of color
in the steeping tea
24 November 2003
forest trail
cigarette smoke
in the parking lot
24 November 2003
blowing leaves
his eyes flick back
to his newspaper
2 December 2003
Friday, February 17, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxx
steaming breath
heaps of gold maple leaves
along the road
21 November 2003
day is done
the crumpled pages
of his call-up letter
24 November 2003
roadside shadows
the sharp ears of the deer at rest
24 November 2003
heaps of gold maple leaves
along the road
21 November 2003
day is done
the crumpled pages
of his call-up letter
24 November 2003
roadside shadows
the sharp ears of the deer at rest
24 November 2003
Thursday, February 16, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxix
simmering stew
trees darken
against the sky
13 November 2003
burning leaves
the ragged ends of her hair brush
her shoulders
13 November 2003
hazy night
the rasp of the leaf rake
on asphalt
21 November 2003
trees darken
against the sky
13 November 2003
burning leaves
the ragged ends of her hair brush
her shoulders
13 November 2003
hazy night
the rasp of the leaf rake
on asphalt
21 November 2003
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxviii
A lot of people don't get juxtaposition. This doesn't surprise me. Juxtaposition
is not a Western way of looking at the world. We Westerners like to fill in the
links, to explain everything. We don't often give people the elements of the
realization and let them fill in the details for themselves.
Juxtaposition, though, is the power of haiku. It's the thing that makes haiku an art form. A good juxtaposition vibrates with power, and turns the two images into something that is bigger than both of them put together. It's a form of magic.
I wanted an example of juxtaposition, so I plucked two elements from my environment and typed them in:
gold-tinged leaves
the drone of the saw
goes on and on
I noticed the saw first, because it's been droning on and on all morning. Someone is cutting up a down tree for firewood. It's like a giant dental drill, giving the sky a headache.
Outside my window, the leaves of one tree caught my attention. They are just starting to turn, and I wanted to capture that slight tint of gold that hints at the coming autumn color.
Okay, so I put those two images here to demonstrate juxtaposition. It's not an inspired haiku, but it is a finger exercise. I'm working on my juxtaposition muscles.
This haiku, like most of the early haiku, is also in a social context, which is this conversation. Haiku in a social context have another layer of meaning, one that often escapes the notice of haiku critics. I think this layer of meaning can actually make haiku stronger, because the haiku, in addition to being a juxtaposition of two elements of the natural world, can also be a commentary on the social interaction. Early haiku were often a compliment to the host, and other verses might be gently poke fun at someone at a gathering. Not overtly, as in the case of senryu, but through the use of something like analogy.
Now, in this context, I might have wrought more than I intended. I had no social agenda when I plucked haiku elements out of my environment. In this social milieu, however, "the drone of the saw goes on and on" has a certain edge to it. I could be commenting that the same old saws (rules and thoughts) come up again and again. I could be talking about how this discussion drones on and on. Or I could be talking about my own dogged insistence on juxtaposition, juxtaposition, juxtaposition.
Are there other ways in which my juxtaposition works?
The two elements are not causally or obviously related. A common mistake in haiku is to pull together two elements that have a so-what relationship:
spring rain
the robin drinks from a puddle
of snow melt
acid indigestion
he washes back a tums
with his beer
In these two cases, the individual elements are okay, but the pairing is predictable and so the resulting haiku make the reader yawn. Not good, unless the subject of the haiku is tedium.
You also don't want the two elements to be obvious opposites.
blazing sun
he takes another sip
of ice-cold lemonade
This is tedious in a different way.
Even though you don't want the two elements of the juxtaposition to be obviously linked, you want a resonance between the two elements. A strong juxtaposition creates an intense resonance, but doesn't cross the border into obviousness.
This resonance was totally mysterious to me until I read a lot of commentary on Japanese haiku. The resonance comes out of the words of the haiku, the way they set off associations in the brain of the reader. Resonance depends on cultural context, on people having the same sets of associations to given words.
24 October 2003
Juxtaposition, though, is the power of haiku. It's the thing that makes haiku an art form. A good juxtaposition vibrates with power, and turns the two images into something that is bigger than both of them put together. It's a form of magic.
I wanted an example of juxtaposition, so I plucked two elements from my environment and typed them in:
gold-tinged leaves
the drone of the saw
goes on and on
I noticed the saw first, because it's been droning on and on all morning. Someone is cutting up a down tree for firewood. It's like a giant dental drill, giving the sky a headache.
Outside my window, the leaves of one tree caught my attention. They are just starting to turn, and I wanted to capture that slight tint of gold that hints at the coming autumn color.
Okay, so I put those two images here to demonstrate juxtaposition. It's not an inspired haiku, but it is a finger exercise. I'm working on my juxtaposition muscles.
This haiku, like most of the early haiku, is also in a social context, which is this conversation. Haiku in a social context have another layer of meaning, one that often escapes the notice of haiku critics. I think this layer of meaning can actually make haiku stronger, because the haiku, in addition to being a juxtaposition of two elements of the natural world, can also be a commentary on the social interaction. Early haiku were often a compliment to the host, and other verses might be gently poke fun at someone at a gathering. Not overtly, as in the case of senryu, but through the use of something like analogy.
Now, in this context, I might have wrought more than I intended. I had no social agenda when I plucked haiku elements out of my environment. In this social milieu, however, "the drone of the saw goes on and on" has a certain edge to it. I could be commenting that the same old saws (rules and thoughts) come up again and again. I could be talking about how this discussion drones on and on. Or I could be talking about my own dogged insistence on juxtaposition, juxtaposition, juxtaposition.
Are there other ways in which my juxtaposition works?
The two elements are not causally or obviously related. A common mistake in haiku is to pull together two elements that have a so-what relationship:
spring rain
the robin drinks from a puddle
of snow melt
acid indigestion
he washes back a tums
with his beer
In these two cases, the individual elements are okay, but the pairing is predictable and so the resulting haiku make the reader yawn. Not good, unless the subject of the haiku is tedium.
You also don't want the two elements to be obvious opposites.
blazing sun
he takes another sip
of ice-cold lemonade
This is tedious in a different way.
Even though you don't want the two elements of the juxtaposition to be obviously linked, you want a resonance between the two elements. A strong juxtaposition creates an intense resonance, but doesn't cross the border into obviousness.
This resonance was totally mysterious to me until I read a lot of commentary on Japanese haiku. The resonance comes out of the words of the haiku, the way they set off associations in the brain of the reader. Resonance depends on cultural context, on people having the same sets of associations to given words.
24 October 2003
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxvii
white bean soup
the soft chatter of birds
settling for the night
23 October 2003
haiku chatter
the pine recedes
in the mist
12 November 2003
somber skies
drifts of dead fir needles
on the road
13 November 2003
the soft chatter of birds
settling for the night
23 October 2003
haiku chatter
the pine recedes
in the mist
12 November 2003
somber skies
drifts of dead fir needles
on the road
13 November 2003
Monday, February 13, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxvi
dark cedars
a hawk tilts
through the mist
Port Angeles
Olympic Peninsula
Washington
29 September 2003
midnight walk
fog drips
from the cedars
4 October 2003
abstract images
sometimes a cigar
is only a cigar
23 October 2003
a hawk tilts
through the mist
Port Angeles
Olympic Peninsula
Washington
29 September 2003
midnight walk
fog drips
from the cedars
4 October 2003
abstract images
sometimes a cigar
is only a cigar
23 October 2003
Sunday, February 12, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxv
friendly fire
he sprinkles red sugar
on the cupcakes
13 September 2003
tall grass
an old DeSoto
beyond the old Dodge
14 September 2003
The small boy uses “if you exist” in the place of “if you insist.”
“Let's get you dressed.”
“If you exist.”
wet washcloth
the mama cow licks the chocolate
off the baby cow
14 September 2003
he sprinkles red sugar
on the cupcakes
13 September 2003
tall grass
an old DeSoto
beyond the old Dodge
14 September 2003
The small boy uses “if you exist” in the place of “if you insist.”
“Let's get you dressed.”
“If you exist.”
wet washcloth
the mama cow licks the chocolate
off the baby cow
14 September 2003
Sunday, February 5, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxiv
september 11th --
serving up leftover
devil's food cake
11 September 2003, a day after my son's 8th birthday
september sunshine
the coarseness of his hair
against my lips
11 September 2003
unknown soldier
a fallen comrade carried
by two ants
13 September 2003
serving up leftover
devil's food cake
11 September 2003, a day after my son's 8th birthday
september sunshine
the coarseness of his hair
against my lips
11 September 2003
unknown soldier
a fallen comrade carried
by two ants
13 September 2003
Saturday, February 4, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxiii
grocery parking lot
the drivers' eyes meet
over chocolate
8 September 2003
muggy wind
back-to-school ads
in the gutter
8 September 2003
spent dandelions
a weather-beaten lawn chair
on the bare patch
13 September 2003
the drivers' eyes meet
over chocolate
8 September 2003
muggy wind
back-to-school ads
in the gutter
8 September 2003
spent dandelions
a weather-beaten lawn chair
on the bare patch
13 September 2003
Friday, February 3, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxii
ticking clock
she brushes pastry crumbs
off her nightie
25 August 2003
empty beer bottle
the stale breath
of the waterfall
27 August 2003
shady arbor
how beautiful these bunches
of bitter grapes
31 August 2003
she brushes pastry crumbs
off her nightie
25 August 2003
empty beer bottle
the stale breath
of the waterfall
27 August 2003
shady arbor
how beautiful these bunches
of bitter grapes
31 August 2003
Thursday, February 2, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxi
midnight
the soft hooting
of an owl
14 August 2003
cold tea
the four-year-old finishes
his tantrum
16 August 2003
august wind
the pianist plays one tune
the stereo another
20 August 2003
the soft hooting
of an owl
14 August 2003
cold tea
the four-year-old finishes
his tantrum
16 August 2003
august wind
the pianist plays one tune
the stereo another
20 August 2003
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
haiku retrospective cccx
moonglow
the buck gets all four feet
in the compost bin
12 August 2003
silent worship
the old man's face glows
with love
14 August 2003
violets
the swirling cloth
in the dye vat
14 August 2003
the buck gets all four feet
in the compost bin
12 August 2003
silent worship
the old man's face glows
with love
14 August 2003
violets
the swirling cloth
in the dye vat
14 August 2003
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
haiku retrospective cccix
lavender shampoo
a faint whiff of sewage gas
from the drain
28 July 2003
slow river
the trees' reflections sway
across the sand
7 August 2003
hiroshima day
the first meteors fall
silently
7 August 2003
a faint whiff of sewage gas
from the drain
28 July 2003
slow river
the trees' reflections sway
across the sand
7 August 2003
hiroshima day
the first meteors fall
silently
7 August 2003
Monday, January 30, 2012
haiku retrospective cccviii
a mother's tears
the desert alive
with ocatillo
25 July 2003
earthquake
the pelvic bones open
to admit the head
28 July 2003
summer siesta
i put my laptop to sleep
so it won't burn my knees
28 July 2003
the desert alive
with ocatillo
25 July 2003
earthquake
the pelvic bones open
to admit the head
28 July 2003
summer siesta
i put my laptop to sleep
so it won't burn my knees
28 July 2003
Sunday, January 29, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxii
ceaseless heat
the squirrel's hands keep turning
the corncob
23 July 2003
drooping lily
the maples the same shade of green
as the redwoods
23 July 2003
almost forgotten --
last winter's rain
24 July 2003
the squirrel's hands keep turning
the corncob
23 July 2003
drooping lily
the maples the same shade of green
as the redwoods
23 July 2003
almost forgotten --
last winter's rain
24 July 2003
Saturday, January 28, 2012
haiku retrospective cccxi
scalding blacktop
orange and yellow blooms
on the prickly pear
22 July 2003
hot and humid
the tea kettle dribbles
onto the counter
22 July 2003
plastic lilies
papa's last mistake
chiseled in marble
22 July 2003
orange and yellow blooms
on the prickly pear
22 July 2003
hot and humid
the tea kettle dribbles
onto the counter
22 July 2003
plastic lilies
papa's last mistake
chiseled in marble
22 July 2003
Friday, January 27, 2012
haiku retrospective cccx
summer moon
the sprinkler makes its way
across the lawn
14 July 2003
beach rollercoaster
brake lights
all the way to the summit
16 July 2003
barbecued spare ribs
prickly pear blossoms
in the sunshine
16 July 2003
the sprinkler makes its way
across the lawn
14 July 2003
beach rollercoaster
brake lights
all the way to the summit
16 July 2003
barbecued spare ribs
prickly pear blossoms
in the sunshine
16 July 2003
Thursday, January 26, 2012
haiku retrospective cccix
hot afternoon
the pebbled coolness
of dried beans
6 July 2003
fourth of july traffic --
my emergency chocolate melts
all over my purse
6 July 2003
hard bench
no haiku admitted
to the courtroom
9 July 2003
the pebbled coolness
of dried beans
6 July 2003
fourth of july traffic --
my emergency chocolate melts
all over my purse
6 July 2003
hard bench
no haiku admitted
to the courtroom
9 July 2003
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
haiku retrospective cccviii
faded roses
dirty white bubbles
below the drain pipe
swaying treetops
flowered sheets billow
on the clothesline
hot deck underfoot
damp cotton gauze clings
to my arm
sun-bleached drying rack
a row of tie-dyed panties
above the socks
still evening
a stack of folded slacks
on the picnic table
mosquitoes rise
the damp scent of clean clothes
on the line
2 July 2003
dirty white bubbles
below the drain pipe
swaying treetops
flowered sheets billow
on the clothesline
hot deck underfoot
damp cotton gauze clings
to my arm
sun-bleached drying rack
a row of tie-dyed panties
above the socks
still evening
a stack of folded slacks
on the picnic table
mosquitoes rise
the damp scent of clean clothes
on the line
2 July 2003
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
haiku retrospective cccvii
gray cubicle
sparrow song
from the computer speaker
11 June 2003
sweet corn by the bushel --
the market umbrella
sails away
24 June 2003
kestrel in flight
poison hemlock chokes
the fire road
24 June 2003
sparrow song
from the computer speaker
11 June 2003
sweet corn by the bushel --
the market umbrella
sails away
24 June 2003
kestrel in flight
poison hemlock chokes
the fire road
24 June 2003
Monday, January 23, 2012
haiku retrospective cccvi
stacking bricks
a hummingbird over
the rose campion
loaded wheelbarrow
rust-gold lichen
on the concrete
the clink of bricks
star jasmine scents
the evening air
ragged breath
brushing forget-me-not seeds
off my pants
swelling rose hips
the wheelbarrow tire
loses more air
a sip of tea
empty dye bottles stacked
on the window sill
9 June 2003
a hummingbird over
the rose campion
loaded wheelbarrow
rust-gold lichen
on the concrete
the clink of bricks
star jasmine scents
the evening air
ragged breath
brushing forget-me-not seeds
off my pants
swelling rose hips
the wheelbarrow tire
loses more air
a sip of tea
empty dye bottles stacked
on the window sill
9 June 2003
Sunday, January 22, 2012
haiku retrospective cccv
a tall glass of iced tea --
forget-me-not seeds stuck
to my pants legs
8 June 2003
trust me on this one --
you can vacuum sock stickers off your sandals
but not your pants
8 June 2003
forget-me-not seeds stuck
to my pants legs
8 June 2003
trust me on this one --
you can vacuum sock stickers off your sandals
but not your pants
8 June 2003
Saturday, January 21, 2012
haiku retrospective ccciv
fading lupine
a fog bank rolls
over the ridge
3 June 2003
“you may kiss the bride”
tears run
through her mascara
5 June 2003
empty to-do list
new reeds
at the pond
7 June 2003
a fog bank rolls
over the ridge
3 June 2003
“you may kiss the bride”
tears run
through her mascara
5 June 2003
empty to-do list
new reeds
at the pond
7 June 2003
Friday, January 20, 2012
haiku retrospective ccciii
towhee's call --
the scent of water
on potting soil
2 June 2003
church picnic --
the volleyball bounces
all the way to the freeway
2 June 2003
gray cubical
sparrow song
from the computer speaker
3 June 2003
the scent of water
on potting soil
2 June 2003
church picnic --
the volleyball bounces
all the way to the freeway
2 June 2003
gray cubical
sparrow song
from the computer speaker
3 June 2003
Thursday, January 19, 2012
haiku retrospective cccii
bees in the bottlebrush
a bird feeder on its side
in the grass
27 May 2003
jasmine flowers
the high-pitched whine
of a mosquito
27 May 2003
rooftop picnic
each palm leaf sharp
against the blue sky
2 June 2003
a bird feeder on its side
in the grass
27 May 2003
jasmine flowers
the high-pitched whine
of a mosquito
27 May 2003
rooftop picnic
each palm leaf sharp
against the blue sky
2 June 2003
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
haiku retrospective ccci
powder room
her breath extends
as she loosens her stays
14 May 2003
his dark eyes
all of the questions
i'm afraid to ask
23 May 2003
civil war re-enactment
a bare-chested young man sobs
into the grass
23 May 2003
her breath extends
as she loosens her stays
14 May 2003
his dark eyes
all of the questions
i'm afraid to ask
23 May 2003
civil war re-enactment
a bare-chested young man sobs
into the grass
23 May 2003
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
haiku retrospective ccc
whock-whock-whock
barbed wire
against the sky
14 May 2003
morning fog
my limbs sink back
into the mattress
14 May 2003
tumbledown fence
sunlight streams
through the honey locusts
14 May 2003
barbed wire
against the sky
14 May 2003
morning fog
my limbs sink back
into the mattress
14 May 2003
tumbledown fence
sunlight streams
through the honey locusts
14 May 2003
Monday, January 16, 2012
haiku retrospective ccxcix
til death do us part --
mating soldier beetles cling
to the window screen
10 May 2003
leaf litter --
mating soldier beetles
on the window screen
10 May 2003
cracked cereal bowl
an old bath towel
under the new dishwasher
12 May 2003
mating soldier beetles cling
to the window screen
10 May 2003
leaf litter --
mating soldier beetles
on the window screen
10 May 2003
cracked cereal bowl
an old bath towel
under the new dishwasher
12 May 2003
Sunday, January 15, 2012
haiku retrospective ccxcviii
evening prayer
hailstones rattle
the windows
8 May 2003
fading light
wild oats nod
above the lupine
8 May 2003
piano recital
a steady drone
from the coke machine
9 May 2003
hailstones rattle
the windows
8 May 2003
fading light
wild oats nod
above the lupine
8 May 2003
piano recital
a steady drone
from the coke machine
9 May 2003
Saturday, January 14, 2012
haiku retrospective ccxcvii
Back when the Giants were at foggy, windy Candlestick Park, they
awarded the Croix de Candlestick to those fans intrepid enough to
sit out an extra inning game. I loved Candlestick, even on foggy,
windy nights. I loved the way the flag in left field flapped in a
different direction from the flag in right field. I loved the way
the fog swirled across the field.
fingers numb with cold
he pins another medal
to her hat
8 May 2003
fingers numb with cold
he pins another medal
to her hat
8 May 2003
Friday, January 13, 2012
haiku retrospective ccxcvi
When I was a child, I thought that my friend's father genuflected to
apologize for being late for church. When I was grown, a Catholic
friend of mine said, “No, he was apologizing for being born.”
hardwood pews
latin prayers mingle
with the incense
I'm older than Vatican II.
My stepmother was a nun for 17 years. She left the church because she was disciplined for working with the Black Panthers to provide hot breakfast for Oakland ghetto children. A retired first grade teacher, she now works as a consultant to help schools teach English to the many California pupils who speak another language at home.
guns and rosaries
scrambled eggs bring a smile
to the child's face
1 May 2003
hardwood pews
latin prayers mingle
with the incense
I'm older than Vatican II.
My stepmother was a nun for 17 years. She left the church because she was disciplined for working with the Black Panthers to provide hot breakfast for Oakland ghetto children. A retired first grade teacher, she now works as a consultant to help schools teach English to the many California pupils who speak another language at home.
guns and rosaries
scrambled eggs bring a smile
to the child's face
1 May 2003
Thursday, January 12, 2012
haiku retrospective ccxcv
virus checker
a handkerchief
fresh from the laundry
30 April 2003
all the same answers
hand-me-down math book
30 April 2003
storm's end
baby bluejays start
squalling
3 May 2003
a handkerchief
fresh from the laundry
30 April 2003
all the same answers
hand-me-down math book
30 April 2003
storm's end
baby bluejays start
squalling
3 May 2003
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
haiku retrospective ccxciv
gnats in flight --
the bearded iris sways
in the breeze
30 April 2003
leaf rake --
a pile of camellia petals
on the blacktop
30 April 2003
morning paper
washing down leftover french fries
with orange juice
30 April 2003
the bearded iris sways
in the breeze
30 April 2003
leaf rake --
a pile of camellia petals
on the blacktop
30 April 2003
morning paper
washing down leftover french fries
with orange juice
30 April 2003
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
haiku retrospective ccxciii
empire waist
bombs and blood spilled
on the desert sand
23 April 2003
weathered park bench
the old lady knits
in the rain
25 April 2003
wind chimes
the eyes of the child i was
still in my face
28 April 2003
bombs and blood spilled
on the desert sand
23 April 2003
weathered park bench
the old lady knits
in the rain
25 April 2003
wind chimes
the eyes of the child i was
still in my face
28 April 2003
Monday, January 9, 2012
haiku retrospective ccxcii
makeshift umbrella
rain drums on the leaves
of the maple
21 April 2003
climbing blackberry --
a cat with white paws shits
in the sandbox
21 April 2003
childhood memories
peacock feathers
in blue glass
22 April 2003
rain drums on the leaves
of the maple
21 April 2003
climbing blackberry --
a cat with white paws shits
in the sandbox
21 April 2003
childhood memories
peacock feathers
in blue glass
22 April 2003
Sunday, January 8, 2012
haiku retrospective ccxci
drifting oak pollen
dark-eyed juncos flit
from branch to branch
17 April 2003
iris in bud --
a small boy balances
on the fence rail
17 April 2003
home again
lego
on the floor
19 April 2003
dark-eyed juncos flit
from branch to branch
17 April 2003
iris in bud --
a small boy balances
on the fence rail
17 April 2003
home again
lego
on the floor
19 April 2003
Saturday, January 7, 2012
haiku retrospective ccxc
worn wiper blade
a forest skyline
in the rear view mirror
14 April 2003
ethnic cleansing
the colored woman scrubs
the white toilet
16 April 2003
zayante creek
horsetails choke
the roadside ditch
17 April 2003
a forest skyline
in the rear view mirror
14 April 2003
ethnic cleansing
the colored woman scrubs
the white toilet
16 April 2003
zayante creek
horsetails choke
the roadside ditch
17 April 2003
Friday, January 6, 2012
haiku retrospective cclxxxix
first light --
cherry leaves heavy
with rain
12 April 2003
well-thumbed book
a memory of cottage cheese
on page 73
14 April 2003
hauling advertisement --
a dog's tongue hangs out
of the bike trailer
14 April 2003
cherry leaves heavy
with rain
12 April 2003
well-thumbed book
a memory of cottage cheese
on page 73
14 April 2003
hauling advertisement --
a dog's tongue hangs out
of the bike trailer
14 April 2003
Thursday, January 5, 2012
haiku retrospective cclxxxviii
first drops of rain --
a backhoe parked
among the hyacinths
10 April 2003
clematis buds
the cracked lights
of the old trailer
10 April 2003
salvia 4-pak
the dreamy look
in the checker's eyes
10 April 2003
a backhoe parked
among the hyacinths
10 April 2003
clematis buds
the cracked lights
of the old trailer
10 April 2003
salvia 4-pak
the dreamy look
in the checker's eyes
10 April 2003
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