Rainy Day Haiku

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

a slanting rain,
sounding machine-like
pounds the ground

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has been revoked

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

hanging droplets
on the fringe of fungus
drip in due time

Rainy Day Tanka [Day 10 of NaPoMo: Tanka]

[A tanka is a Japanese form closely related to the shorter form, haiku. In fact, a haiku can be thought of as the upper phrase of a potential tanka. Traditionally, the tanka (a.k.a. waka) is a 31-syllable poem. In modern notation, the additional 14 syllables are  put into two seven-syllable lines below the three haiku lines, i.e. 5 – 7 – 5. (That said, there are many — myself included — who feel that the 5 – 7 – 5 – 7 – 7 approach applied to English language poetry loses the sparse, Zen feel of Japanese poetry because English syllables can be — and frequently are of — much longer duration. Personally, I’m more partial to the 2 – 3 – 2 stressed beats approach.) Historically, a haiku presents an image devoid of analysis or commentary. In Tanka, there is a pivot and the lower phrase often presents a response to the image.]

dry season
afternoon downpours
come daily
like one bird nesting
in another’s nest

soggy forest
oppressed smoke hangs low
unseen, but smelt
bone dry wood exists
but only within flame


drippy garden
a bright orange flower
hangs its head high
you warm my mind,
if not my bones

POEM: The Pleasures of Being Rained In

rainy season spatters onto big leaves —

like banana leaves

playing the jungle like a white noise orchestra

close your eyes and the wall of sound

drags over your senses

smearing tactile and olfactory experience

into the bombardment

yet the sameness of sounds offers no hold

and so that rain-on-leaf spatter dance

lulls one into a ragged, tattered trance

whether it brings euphoria or dark fears

or jagged agony or inexplicable tears

one can’t know without surrender


energy spills down my back

a liquid, electric energy

the subtle tug can be felt against tiny hairs

if your mind can move at the pace of that subtle tug

and not be sprung like a panther’s lunge

you can find your surrender

POEM: Monsoon City Night

pavement shimmering in the arc lamp glow
human traffic hardens as water flows
a can glides, twisting, toward the storm drain
riding a ruddy river of rain

a torrent pours, night awash in white sound
sewers fill, the city gurgles and drowns
boarding the bus requires a quay
each monsoon night seeks a revival day

POEMS: Dreary Day Haiku

IMG_2123Clouds chugged landward
Smothering a festive town
In a dense, gray cloak


Dreary days have come
Reminding me of Britain,
the long nightless nights


Drizzle piddles down
Dimpling the sidewalk sheen
With random ripples