Early Autumn [Haiku]

the shelterbelt,
 surrounding the farm, shows
  hints of autumn hue.

Metaphor & Misnomer [Free Verse]

"in the trenches"

what a circuit 
 that phrase has taken:

from the Western Front 
 of World War I, where the trenches 
 were cold, claustrophobic places
 of mud and creeping mustard gas;
 harbor & prison for shell-shocked
 souls at wit's end

to become used by businesspeople &
 politicians to describe metaphorical fights...

but there are no metaphorical fights,
 they should be called metaphorical games

games have winners & losers,
 but not the living & the dead
 & the dying & the disabled &
 the permanently disturbed

it feels like a frivolous bit
 of linguistic creep as fighters
 now stand on cold, wet feet 
 in muddy trenches
 in Eastern Ukraine

talk of salespeople or 
 grassroots political organizers
 as "in the trenches" 
 misses the point that everyone
 in trenches is a soldier --
 be they a salesperson
 in the metaphorical "trenches"
 of calmer days.

Winter Woods [Haiku]

through winter woods,
the hilltop clearly stands
that hides in spring.

Water Landing [Haiku]

a white bird
& its black reflection
flare together.

Prowling Egret [Haiku]

summer: at dawn,
in liquid metal waters,
an egret prowls.

Over the River [Haiku]

from the bank,
 i watch the river flow,
  awed by what it's known

Pushkin Limerick

The poet Alexander Pushkin
 challenged twenty-one duels with no win.
 But just that one loss,
  put him under a cross.
 Perhaps, he'd have lived if his skin weren't so thin. 

Silence [Blank Verse]

This cave is too quiet --
  a squeak, a drip, wing snap.
 But mostly silence &
  hushed sounds without meanings.

Too quiet for my mind.
 Too quiet for our times. 

Poetic Absorption [Free Verse]

Read at the speed 
  of absorption,
   (not consumption.)

Sit with the ephemera
  that boils off upon
   each read.

It will be different
  the next time.

Don't memorize.
 
That hammers it into
   some dark, heavy pit
    that it was never meant to be --

a thing that sinks in water
   and plummets from the air. 

Hammering cleaves its wings,
   and it becomes hopeless in the flow --
    staggering like a deranged drunk
     in the dark. 

When you read it,
    only read it. 

Don't anticipate.

Be surprised. 

The Scrublands [Haiku]

dust rises,
 in little eddies,
  with each footfall.