for a moment of joy or moments no one pays for, i give myself a ‘jornal’. this makes me rich. try it.

To Mary Margaret, “nothing but fine rain” (reflection on an ‘angel’s passing’)

It must be the constant grey sky, the moist air, the tearful silence of still leaves, and the passing away of a niece, Mary Margaret, at 29 years old, invalid most of her growing up years from an undetected source of her seizures–an angel to us all–that midly paralyzed me with a meltdown. Being old, I saw through my life as in a screen: what did really matter and what matters most. I believe she had the perfect answer with her illness having shorn her of the false sun sparks that I could be guilty of racing to catch. The weeks following her death lead me to an overdue clarity of the truths I failed to recognize, hence, left untended. I hope that with my thinning bones, I could still carry a metaphorical watering can to bring them back to life. Would that these three haiku were enough for now…


fall twilight

on her grave nothing

but fine rain


on her tomb

tiny hands sweep

leavings of sparrows 


candle drippings

on her epitaph-

a broken word


November 17, 2019 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

summaries (a sequence)

earth’s raiment showing

if coquetry
a verb dandelion fur

thigh-high mist the graveyard sea wind-lisps

vexed with what to wed

brain murmur definitely scarred

the monkey tree’s appeals

page 10

in a hyena’s lock jaw all the why’s

page 11

shattered ear possibly the gist of all paralysis

page  12

bones #18 November 15, 2019  (a journal of contemporary haiku) 


November 17, 2019 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment