April 2009
43 posts
Standing on concrete between the trees’ reflections and the trees Kris Lindbeck
Apr 29th
2 notes
tanka – light rain
The light rain and my hangover are fading. Sidewalks glisten but do not know it. Adriaan Jacobsz
Apr 27th
1 note
tanka-koan
The master said, “Don’t leave the door open for other people. You managed to get through, so who would need your help?” Adriaan Jacobsz
Apr 26th
So Victorian, this portobello: her yards and yards of dusky ruching; the ecru ruffles down about her knees. Beth Adams
Apr 25th
Buzzard   Hangs motionless While I circle below Brian Pike
Apr 23rd
Turkish restaurant: the chef makes goo-goo faces at his friend’s babies klindbeck
Apr 23rd
1 note
1 tag
One crow weaves among The drizzle-wetted pine trunks In gray morning light. Twitterku
Apr 20th
1 tag
Crow Songs
Everything is lifting upward: robins to branches, crow to treetop, distant plane to wispy clouds. oversouled Two crows locate a small gray hawk in a maze of gray branches. But their angry calls soon taper off, and they sit silently under a gray sky. Morning_Porch Crow perches on a sunny lamp post scattering blackbirds Kris in drizzle and mist noon’s light glances blue off the flying crow JS...
Apr 19th
The Icon
See! A dove hovers momentarily above the roof wings translucent to the sinking sun then flies off like any bird Kris
Apr 19th
Closed strips, open stairs - this moebius of movement, upside down, inside out, turning me, turning me  …     by PF Anderson from this Momentile
Apr 19th
Early Morning
Sitting in twilight, typing,  an odd movement at the edge     of the keyboard?     A big spider  crawls across my laptop screen.  YIKES!  …  by PF Anderson
Apr 18th
i have no words today
i have no words today whether left on the Sierra’s snow-clad slopes or lost piloting last night’s flight through twinkling sweet air i cannot say i have no words today
Apr 17th
While Driving
clouds ripple in the sky streaks of light piercing through winds gusting stoplights sideways  …  by PF Anderson
Apr 17th
carpe diem
I he did not climb his hill today just watched it pass him by no moment seized, no bridges crossed his day expires a sigh II no pebbles thrown today no unintended consequences the universe yawned and ground to a halt what are we without concentric rings?
Apr 16th
Easter Haibun
I This snowstorm in the Sierras rages oh so silently around us. Mountains disappear, white in fear, but we walk joyfully with our tongues out. II snowflake lost in the crowd alights to nest on my shoulder
Apr 16th
Albino Tax Preparer at the Downtown Branch of H&R...
The sky darkens by degrees and sometimes in spite of myself I stare at his face as if it were a moon Dana Guthrie Martin (see original post for process notes)
Apr 15th
Something died in the furnace: sweet stench of decay when the heat comes on.
Apr 15th
Apr 14th
1 note
I must take my place
May a stranger join? This caravan of sorrows Silhouette in motion along the sunset ridge May a stranger join?
Apr 13th
Like silence in daylight what is wind in darkness? The Middlewesterner
Apr 13th
1 note
i Waking from a dream I open a window to let in the moon  ii Midnight breeze through the window meets my quiet breath
Apr 13th
birds before dawn simmering in the trees Oversouled
Apr 13th
1 note
My sister, the eldest, closed the door and turned the key, and we stood homeless in the chill April sun. Sherry Chandler
Apr 13th
Rain is the deepest dye of new green, yet makes the eggs in the grass glow.
Apr 13th
1 note
full moon haiku
soft and white the April moon at last arrives full-breasted into the impatient evening skies
Apr 11th
1 note
Wake me from the dark I love you most where I am lost
Apr 10th
Because of the bells You tied to the rain I can’t cry anymore
Apr 10th
1 note
Spam Haiku
Sharp and harsh and its actions rough and hasty; give her a chisel. Up to three toppings. Comes with leather straps. Dr. Who would not dream a longer.
Apr 9th
1 note
The cloud ceiling trails wisps with dark ends like an old woman with long hair.
Apr 9th
The red buds shake off the judas weather of March; Aceldama of April.
Apr 9th
I grip the barbed wire To be sure of The sharpness Brian Pike
Apr 9th
2 notes
Rain and Snow
i black crows gather high in a barren maple the river rising ii high water the bridge graffiti garbled iii stay close it’s miserable she says…                          the child catching a snowflake                          on his tongue ————————— Gathered by permission by Kris from Blue Toque Who posts his poetry with line breaks...
Apr 7th
Chiron
emblazoned upon the black obsidian skies Centaurus pulls his bow one last time forever
Apr 7th
rust and road
Leave no morning skin here Walk full of rust and road to an early field wild and almost green Laura Sorrells “This is another from the haiku magnets series, where I pull a bunch of them out of a cup and put something together from that handful.”
Apr 7th
red-tailed hawks soaring in tightening gyres eyes locked on each other
Apr 6th
April Before Dawn
wind presses the door closed the heart of the storm comes near dark is light with snow  …  by PF Anderson
Apr 6th
2 notes
Because I leave my night door open :: I am free to use the moon Grant Hackett (with permission)
Apr 6th
Old pine cone on roadside gravel: same color Oversouled
Apr 5th
The old mountain hugs the river, the long and true music of your name. tinydoctor
Apr 5th
2 notes
After Furr by Blitzen Trapper
My dogs invite me To run all night in moon light And join in their song. ~#~ My flesh turns to fur; Dulls the taste to distinguish The right from the wrong. ~#~ Fur returns to skin; Too late to strain to fit in Where I can’t belong. - Twitterku The song to which these three tweets refer is at FURR
Apr 3rd
1 note
1 tag
This is not a robot
“Robot” is a word that feels good in the mouth, especially when said slowly. * Fact: In poor lighting, metal trash cans are sometimes mistaken for robots, as are lamp posts, filing cabinets and human beings. * You were a robot who wanted to be a tree. You stood in the front yard until the seasons changed, convinced you would sprout leaves. * We confess to having loved robots even...
Apr 3rd
Light rain, they say. I see a gray wall to drive through. The Middlewesterner
Apr 2nd
1 note
Journey
     for Rae, 1953-2009 clustered drops glitter at edges of a white pine — thru one sunset sears * * *  the pulse of fireflies cascades, forms ephemeral constellations, shifts angular to open, curved goddess in a flash of light * * *  high above the earth where snowflakes are born, look up — catch this light on your tongue! * * *  they shimmer, she said, waves of bright colors...
Apr 2nd
2 notes