random seasons, a haiku/senryu series
stone wall
mottled hands escaping
through air
ham flavor
hangs about her sweater
hospice weekend
though touch-less
the intimate rustle of silk
fall
dog buries
bruises
hobbling out of my midnight winter moon
apple core
how to bottle
memories
a tiger
musing on my eye
autumn dusk
chopped beets
i wash the knife
of traces
open page
an opaque scent
in his bath water
oak stump–
i remember the hornets
last summer
shell shards
on a paint roller
a womb
sunshine in the snow #23b NaHaiWriMo
sunshine in the snow–
your shaded eyes does not say
what you mean
My #23 haiku from NaHaiWriMo is posted on the facebook site.
About this haiku–doesn’t it bother you, too? As soon as the sun bursts stark white, all eyes disappear under dark shades and goggles. And shades these days come opaque in what looks like midnight blue, muddy brown, deep ocean black-green. We face each other like we’re blind when we’re talking to each other. And that bothers me, that’s where this haiku came from.
begonias once/wintry day/as if by decree, et. al
begonias once–
by her window waiting
on snow
shorn of its flowers
its name magnolia–
once
wintry day–
caricature of cherry trees
against opaque sky
ah, how it blossoms the Christmas cactus
as if by decree
the poinsettia sheds
a week from Christmas
Stoned Bird (for One Shot Wednesday)
Night for us wraps the sun scruffy,
a rooster ruffled in flight, tossing
its last complaint: how long the wait
for three o’clock, the hour of
lead the hour to undo eternal
betrayal?
Unease stirs our beds made
of filaments, splinters
of our spirits borne on crumbs
we had long swallowed
then spewed out for
opaque dreams.
So unlike warblers, so
lacking their marrow-less lightness
to flitter on twigs, we toss in gales
to roost in flesh, demanding
silence as if to lure death
we must first die.
Straining to sing we cannot
either. If we were but robins, maybe
chords those daylong cries, those
dirges for absent mate, we may
un-shy declare—dark
is darker faith-less.
Who tears the pines in shreds,
pining notes so shrill these whirl
like tin stars? If we could
but like orioles blaze through our sadness
in the dark then singed, be land-
sobered but freed.
Yet, we are but ourselves un-cocked to night’s
endearments, tuned in to strident signals:
the steel-pipe whistles (if it were but Pan’s), the roar
under belly, a thud under foot then
the jingle of keys, a creak as joints
part to solitary landscapes
nightscapes where we have planted
monoliths that guiltless
we treasure priceless unlike we do our
spirit—this soundlessness in our
being, this singing bird
we have stoned.
I am posting this poem for One Shot Wednesday at the One Stop Poetry blog.
Join us – throw in your verses. Here are the rules (taken directly off their blog):
1. Write a poetic piece & post it on your blog
2. Then let us know about your post. Link back to One Shot
3. Sign up in the Mr Linky list, linking directly to your post, AFTER you’ve posted it.
4. Go visit others who have signed up! Offer support & encouragement. Share your love of words and insight respectfully. Please try to visit as many participating poets as you can. We all could use and appreciate kind feedback.