Monsoon City [Haibun]

It’s not raining now, but that could change at any moment. The clouds are in place: thick and gray and indeterminately stretched out above the church spires and tall buildings. The pavement is rain slick and has been long enough that no one remembers the last time it wasn’t. Walkers have umbrellas grafted to their hands, even the ones who are notoriously forgetful about such things, the ones who have vast collections of umbrellas because they perpetually forget to take one and then get caught in a squall — even those forgetful souls have the word “umbrella” in the forefront of their minds, pushing out important information about work meetings and the birthdays of nuclear family members.

mid-monsoon city
pavement 's not been dry for days:
quick-draw umbrella

Sun Block [Haiku]

a thick cloud
parks in front of the sun,
and says, “Not today!”

DAILY PHOTO: Gaganachukki Falls

Taken in August of 2022 in Karnataka

Grass Eats Steel [Haiku]

moss grows on steel.
machine on the forest’s edge,
swallowed by life

Entranced [Lyric Poem]

I see the lazy sway
of trees across the way.

And I'm lulled into trance
by their languid leafy dance.

And for the time I've lost
there must be some unit cost.

Or, perhaps, only gain.
There was no angst or pain...

only lost moments.

Mocking Monkey [Common Meter]

One day I passed a gray monkey,
and something made me turn.
I caught the primate in the act 
of issuing a burn.

Its eyes were closed; its tongue stuck out.
Its head twisted to tease.
And when it saw me seeing it,
for a sec, it did freeze. 

As if not a thing had happened,
and it was not to blame.
Before I could make my rebuke
it multiplied my shame.

by blowing me a raspberry
followed by a big smirk.
Then it scrambled away before
I went truly berserk.

In the Temple [Free Verse]

i enter an empty temple. 

it’s not silent.

footfalls resonate
&
floorboards creak.

but flickering flames
&
sleepy-eyed Buddhas
are quiet enough

in an hour,
the monks will filter in
with great punctuality:
monks, young and old.
(i would say, “and ages in-between,”
but they all seem young or old.)

there will be chanting,
and the din of finger cymbals
and deep-toned drums.

and i will leave
for the solace
of the world
outside the temple.

The Ottoman [Limerick]

There once was an indolent Turk
who was never around to do work.
With his makeshift footstool,
he'd snore & he'd drool.
They called his stool "the Ottoman" and smirk.