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
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