Solitude Haiku [On the Third Day of NaPoMo]

let us now pray
for short people with no one
to reach the top shelf


moon-gazer
sitting on a rooftop
hugging knees


silent morning
awakened by the sounds
that aren’t


closing eyes
seeking faces forgotten,
sadly failing


what void
holds the millions
unseen



[Since it’s National Poetry Month (NaPoMo,) I’m trying to do a different form each day. So far: limericks, a sonnet, and haiku. If you know of any obscure forms, I’d be glad to hear of them, because I don’t think I know 30 flavors of poetry, presently — relatively short form, of course, I don’t have the time or skill to do an epic narrative in a day. (Though micro-narrative will certainly be a thing.)]

Flowering Haiku

hectic sidewalk
frangipani blossoms
stepped over


calling bees
scent, color, and glory
unrivaled


the hillside
when rhododendrons bloom
shangri la


for two weeks
the valley flowers,
its spell cast

 

purple circle
rings the base of a tree
regal shadow

Falling Water Haiku

thunder yon
Zambezi rafting
greenhorns beware


cataract
water wind-misted
plume-zone green


terraced hill
rice paddy cascades
depth perfection


dry season
murmur to trickle to
fall-less falls


level rising
the overspill rolls
pulling drops

Desert Haiku

offset prints
bisected by tail drag
lizard sign


gnarled driftwood,
snake skin, rusty barbed wire
in red sand


cold morning,
the rising fire ball,
a silent knell


red sandstone
warmed by the rising sun
gorge aglow


yon mirage
mirror-clear blue,
chase the lie

Agriculture & Nature Haiku

grazing sheep,
loitering head down;
what awes them?

 

rice terraces,
disguising man’s order
in nature’s green

 

ripe wheat,
bobbing in a breeze —
sea-like moves

 

on a range
that stretches beyond sight
but not mind

 

tea plantation,
a snake slithers through
amid the pickers

Mysterious Sight Haiku

shaman staring
out into the distance
a world away

 

hawk on the roof
twists its head, pointing
one eye groundward

 

cow head fixed
as a raucous world screams —
blind or unmoved?

 

what’s it like
to have one’s blind spot
to the front?

 

the sad moment
when baby’s smile is found
to be fart fueled

Fateful Crossing Haiku

on a fence rail,
i saw a scorpion —
dead, but menacing


a dog nudges
its dead companion,
whimpering


after life,
no one contemplates the
Afterlife


grasping the sword
like nothing depends upon
everything


when you accept
that you, too, will be food,
death holds no sway