Sunday, December 31, 2017

December 31

New Year’s Eve harbor, 
silence 
inside the wind.

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Wednesday, December 27, 2017

Not All Haiku Are About Nature—Especially Mine

I’m still using the 5-7-5 syllable structure, which I know is passé, but I like the constraints for now, even though they seem positively wordy by comparison. 


Dog park, 9 pm. 
Lamplit, ice cold, just us two. 
Then—the gate. Why now?

*

No longer a son.
I’ll always be their son, yes.
But a son? A death.


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Monday, December 25, 2017

December 25 Haiku

Already the day—
birthed by a cruciform sun—
almost Christmas past. 


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Saturday, December 16, 2017

Mid-December Haiku

The end of the year.
“Red light, green light” comes to mind.
A kids’ game. Stop. Glow.

*

Senses mark the days.
Rosemary, salt, marble, pine—
which smelled, tasted, felt?

*

Child's crayon drawing:
red cardinal, snowy bough.
That old novice dream.




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Friday, December 15, 2017

Candle Haiku

Flame to a candle, 
wax dripping onto the floor, 
and the time between.

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Wednesday, December 13, 2017

Haiku Trio

Sunday afternoons,
I held my mother’s hands, smiled.
In her eyes words, words.

*

A mug of black tea, 
hand-thrown. I want to touch it, 
hold it, now empty.    

*

Her nose burrows down,
the dirt a Petri dish for 
the culture of dog.

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Sunday, December 10, 2017

One Haiku

It’s just a short drive 
to my childhood home. Surprise,
there, like memory.

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Saturday, December 09, 2017

Five Haiku

Which brings more peace—dog 
facing me or curled away?
Never mind. That snore.

*

I walk home from work,
Listen to news as I think:
Pasta? Stir-fry? Luck.


*

So: “the first dusting.”
Memories, hope, fantasy—
the real snow report. 


*

All those men, naked, 
having a party somewhere 
without me. That’s right. 


*

A stranger, a chat
about singers I once loved. 
Still do. But . . . what? Time. 

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Tuesday, December 05, 2017

Three Haiku

The orchid wilting.
Found bright on the cold sidewalk, 
weeks ago. Don’t die.

*

My evening world, home: 
dog’s eyes, tea, laundry spinning.
What happens outside?

*

Mom was always first 
on my list of prayers. Now 
someone gets her slot.

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