July 2009
12 posts
park haiku
rustling
poplars
brushing
sunlight
a white
butterfly’s
wings
Adriaan Jacobsz
This week on the porch
Monday
A bluebird warbles in the darkness. Eyelids heavy with hours of missing sleep, I squint into the spreading stain of light.
Tuesday
The tansy heads beside the porch have grown eyes: clear beads at the center of each dense sun. A faint haze of rain thickens into pelt.
Wednesday
Gray and misty. A common yellowthroat keeps caroling back to a Carolina wren, until I have trouble remembering...
black blob as fat as my thumbnail was hiding in the potato
Fiona Robyn (asmallstone)
She wears her sunglasses like a tiara. Rhinestones flare / flair in her hair.
Deb Scott (stoney), here & here
Just Breathing
Just the fact of a floating cloud or a crow. Just that cloud or crow… And just me, breathing.
Adriaan Jacobsz
The muscle of tock makes time, ticks off its dooms, each second a collapsed cathedral in a sack.
tinydoctor
Leda's Sun
the sun’s hard thrust like Leda’s swan defies the pool’s cool waters
blue morning its ghost moon just a memory
forgottenworks
Our prayer is like a sand mandala: we don’t write it down, so it drifts away on the wind.
Velveteen Rabbi
With wheel squeeze he’ll get there, a man of destination, his foot pressuring on past a diner serving fresh pie.
dannypoet
Sandalwood mala at 4:00 am soft voices splash on the street rain lingers in the air.
The beads pass but sleep has flown; gulls are laughing.
the cassandra pages
Three haiku
North Carolina: red earth is dusty salmon from the plane * I buy my niece that skirt with shorts under for cartwheels * Sitting in a dark car I watch the fireflies high on the pines Kris Lindbeck