a few haiku

Month: April, 2014

spring wind page after page of the journal undated

the dog’s hot
breath on my knee
thunder without rain

the weight of Sunday winter clothing

giving you a mixed message skunk cabbage

the moon
and one dim star—
counting my change

train sounds in the distance pictures of the old dog

twilight
the boys ride in circles
a little longer

Spring cleaning

I was looking in my drafts and found all of these fragments, half-haiku, etc. that I don’t know if I’ve published here, simply abandoned or what. So I decided to just stitch them all together into one long sequence (I don’t know if I can call it a poem) and see what happens. Why not?

(Each line is a single recovered, long forgotten and sometimes lightly edited entry I found among my drafts.)

 

 

winter sunrise a string of rejections back into the sky

stream of words when I close my eyes leaves in the breeze

apologizing to the past me who looks

down the rocks a single red

heavy grape of high summer the year’s first crocus

 

dark blue sky a siren spills half of my hot dream

maybe just hunger in the highest parts of the clouds

branches darken on every corner a murder

wind tossed trees all the little blue flowers stay still

 

a squirrel carrying leaves back home across the grey sky

who says

a few green letters and a different world

 

a dusting of green pollen the music inside me now decades old

her hand on my chest
in the laundry room—
the short night