Rainy Day Haiku

I
in corn country,
the scent of rain often
outpaced the clouds


II
a slanting rain,
sounding machine-like
pounds the ground


III
with these mean rains,
my invite to outdoors
has been revoked


IV
mossy mountain,
its flipside is dry grass –
yin to its yang


V
hanging droplets
on the fringe of fungus
drip in due time

POEM: Mundane Magic

The girl cast an incantation —
and as her words bore fruit —
they burned her as a witch.

-Blaming the woman
-Blaming her magic
-Blaming a Devil,

But granting amnesty to the words.

What human endeavor is unswayed
by the force of words?

What marauding army was sent off
without a flurry of furious words?

How many Generals have tried
to match the grace of the St. Crispin’s Day Speech?
And though they fail,
their words aren’t without kinetic effect.

What lost cause found victory in words
spewed by a red-faced coach
in a half-time locker-room?

Hasn’t the stab of careless words
been felt more deeply than a dagger?
— splitting up couples, if not Empires.

It may be true that words don’t kill people,
that people kill people,
but when did anyone ever get lethally worked up
in the absence of a well-sequenced string of words?

Stormy Shore Haiku

I
waves bash stone —
volcanic rock walls pocked
a grain at a time


II
crashing sounds —
perfectly formed waves to
sizzling foam


III
beach sweeping
waves push and pull sand
step tales erased


IV
gray skies
the typhoon unseen
but expected


V
wave doubles back
upon hitting the stony shore:
return to sender

POEM: Day’s End Dance


Patches of pink on army green —
the rhododendrons bloom.
In the hills of Himalaya —
gone the sad winter gloom.

Gone the weight of weary sinew —
the soul begins its float.
We feel the fire of shining skies
as we shed pack and coat.

The body, so still and silent —
nonetheless takes to dance.
The hike’s exhaustion falls away
and one tunes in the trance.

POEM: Reading Courageously


If you’ve never been incensed,
challenged, or nauseous —
your reading is too safe, puny,
and far, far too cautious.

Reading should be a courageous act
that threatens all you know.
It should shove your feet into shoes
far different from your own.

If you want your world unchanged,
T.V. is right for you.
Books will insist you be torn a-
part and rebuilt anew.

Haiku that Move

a little rain
on a little slope
races seaward

 

the world blurs,
my brain strains to track
its motion

 

in stillness
one loses the world’s
steady spin

 

i throw myself
to silly dance — joyous
that i can

 

the perched raven
still swivels its eye
in stone mode

Hibernation’s End Haiku

yellow light
of the setting sun
warms high branches


city unlocked,
birds and beasts return
to the background


crow perches
on a cast iron railing —
watching


wary people —
spring-thawed hibernators
rejoin world


bright flowers
bloomed, lived, and died
in my absence

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

FOGGY HAIKU

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cloud fallen
resting on muddy ground
and limp dry grass


lulled to sleep
staring out a window
into the fog


faint edges
reality is swallowed
by the fog


foggy morn
black branch scribbles
in the gray


what shapes become,
edges softened and deformed,
fog monsters