I a stand of pines from the lake's edge to the mountain's bald spot
II dense green vines wind through dead tree branches disguising death
III the mountain lake refreshes and chills by sight alone
Tarn Haiku Trio
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Tag Archives: poem
POEM: Escaping Isolation [PoMo Day 17 – Ottava Rima]
In isolation, I took to story, and traipsed through worlds impossible yet true, living life from infantile thru hoary, under skies: gunmetal to deepest blue, in lands where trucks were known to be lorries, and ancient cities breathed as though brand new. Where neither time nor bars could imprison, I found my phoenix had now arisen.
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POEM: The River Running through this City
I roam the old city, gazing at Gothic gargoyles and touching stonework made by men long since dead, wondering how I ended up in this chunk of time, rather than one in which this land was all just forest or marshland, or one in which we all wait amid the rubble to blast off to some secondary hive of humanity.
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POEM: Newly Evergreen [PoMo Day 16 – Tanka]
under spring skies, the evergreen - thick with new needles - echoes the tune sung by hardwood neighbors
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POEM: The Burning Mask
We like to think we see the soul, but what we see is a flaming hole: a burning mask of time on task all coffee cup, no hidden flask the smile that lies -- no lows all highs. Who knows where ends the shrewd disguise?
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POEM: Seashore Mind [PoMo Day 15 – Villanelle]
The waves are churned to foam. The sight mesmerizes. My mind is miles from home. My seated self does roam -- chaos that surprises, like waves are churned to foam. Like one w/ Capgras Syndrome, hustler mistrust arises. My mind 's wary of home. I focus on the chrome, but my ear recognizes the waves that churn to foam. I've vagabond chromosomes, but still the thought chastises: "Your mind is miles from home!" I'm sitting all alone, and my mind surmises: Like waves churned to foam, your mind 's so far from home.
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POEM: A Rainy Day in the Dry Season
Rain sidles up in a commanding cloud -- early -- And so it waits in its cloud, like the awkward party guest who sits in his car, waiting to be fashionably late, but - not having decoded what "on-time" really means - arrives early, nevertheless.
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POEM: Snowy Street [PoMo Day 14 – Prose Poem]
I walked a snowy street, quietly as the falling snow, a snow that melted under foot, not one that crunched - compacting. Everything was deadened by that not-so-cold snow, a snow that swallowed sound, a snow that would have shunned light -- had there been any to shun. But it was night, and I was walking in the snow.
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POEM: A Round Poem
I walked beside the river, the river that rolled through town, a town I thought had been a dream, a dream replayed night after night, nights that flowed like that river, the river that rolled through town.
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POEM: Moonlight Mystery [PoMo Day 13 – Ghazal]
I saw a silhouette in the moonlight, a man who plodded snow that glowed moonlight. I was mesmerized by the vagabond -- a night-owl nomad moving by moonlight. What'd take me out into that night's cruel cold, seeing only what shone in the moonlight? A deadly urgent case must be afoot, a riddle solved solely in harsh moonlight. But maybe there's no beauty like the moon, and maybe no light flatters like moonlight. If so, the cold must be some puny stakes against the milky glow of brisk moonlight. And so I pull on boots and tug a hat to venture out amongst the pale moonlight. And seeing night as did that wanderer, I know the virtue life finds in moonlight.
