BEST OF ISSUE
FROGPOND AWARDS
Award Description
Each issue of Frogpond features a $100 "Best of Issue Frogpond Award" sponsored by the Museum of Haiku Literature Award "For the best previously unpublished work appearing in the last issue of Frogpond as selected by vote of the Haiku Society of America Executive Committee."
This award is made possible by the generosity of the Museum of Haiku Literature in Tokyo, Japan.
Online Collection of Award Winners
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[Top]
[Top]
46.1
[Top]
[Top]
tide line . . .
every step taken
taken back
waiting for the butter
to soften
summer rain
[Top]
drought
an old barn
peeling sunlight
so many times
I wanted to say yes . . .
summer stars
mud caked boots
the heaviness
of regret
[Top]
thousands of river stones
the child's hand is full
of one
the box to check
that I'm not a robot—
winter rain
we listen
to the view
[Top]
after the rain
a blue sky
I don't trust
convalescence . . .
autumn revealing
the river
unable
to explain
wisteria
[Top]
change in pitch
as the nail enters wood—
an ache beyond reach
over the crib
a universe
in suspense
off to on I disappear into the visible
[Top]
third deployment
the unfinished dollhouse
beneath a sheet
heat lightning
the sound of white corn
being shucked
onion skin
I open myself
to the rain
[Top]
braiding my daughter's hair
just enough tension
blister moon
a wish
rubbed raw
afternoon rain
emptying a book
of its words
[Top]
still watching me
with her knowing look—
my childhood doll
air show . . .
the ice cream girls
compare nail polish
her letter . . .
I'd forgotten
paper can cut
[Top]
silence of snow
we listen to the house
grow smaller
porch swingmy feelingscome and go
new love the up and down of her teabag
dawn swim—
making a butterfly of water
of light
[Top]
summer heat
the strands of hair not captured
by her braid
mating dragonflies—
my overuse
of dashes
after she leaves
the weight
of hanging apples
[Top]
how some things end—
onion flakes
in the market sack
whale songs . . .
when did we stop
talking
most of
what is
right
in
a wild
flower
patch
[Top]
woodsmoke . . .
the guilt of living
on
lapping shore water—
the things we take
for granted
first frost
the echo in the caw
of the crow
[Top]
bare maple
my daughter says
she'll come back
reddening apples—
my newborn tries to suckle
the orchard air
autumn riff
aspen leaves a few notes higher
than the stream
[Top]
rain settles
some of the pollen
some of the plans
empty house—
a whisper of mother's voice
in the autumn wind
the glare off snow
has the run of the house
February's extra day
[Top]
year's end—
what made me think I needed
a harmonica
From the A-bombed tree
seeds start to fall
this year also
distant singing—
the winter stars
almost touch
[Top]
open scissors beside a vase of water
circle of pines
God absent
from the wedding vows
after sunset . . .
the shapes
of the clouds
[Top]
autumn morning—
repainting our bedroom
the color it was
spring evening
the children's promise
not to get cold
spring rain—
milk in her left breast
unexpectedly sweeter
[Top]
autumn wind
in his sweater pocket
the missing button
the numbness
of scar tissue—
forsythia
jackknifed rig
the trooper waves us
into wildflowers
[Top]
late summer
black men spreading tar
on the side road
dim light
the night nurse
describes the rain
squash vines
long and hollow
the last late evenings
[Top]
spring plowing
a flock of blackbirds
turns inside out
knowing your cough
but not your face—
invalid neighbor
[Top]
Independence Day—
I let him touch
a little bit of me
all around
light falling in a field
of fireflies
dusk—
up to my ears
in birdsong
[Top]
summer evening
fanning myself
with a paper moon
whistling
he
hangs
the
birdhouse
he
built
snake hunting the boy sheds his shirt
[Top]
dry heat—
to the same withered flower
a bee returns
garden work—
talking to each other
back to back
close lightning
the metallic taste
in my mouth
[Top]
snowflakes glued
to the kindergarten window—
no two alike
I brush
my mother’s hair
the sparks
starry night—
biting into a melon
full of seeds
[Top]
January thaw
the narrow path
fading away
Father’s funeral
Mother
suddenly small
porch swing
now and then a breeze
from the river
undefended:
in the cold rain
their snow fort
faint city stars …
the moth’s copper dust
in my palm
[Top]
ill again
a dry leaf
across porch boards
Logging road—
the pileated woodpecker
flings its cry ahead
spring planting
her refusal
to compromise
[Top]
snow
softening
the night
the white v of a killdeer’s wings
opening in the wake
of its cry
Lily pond
with one step the snowy egret
moves the moon
leaving the park—
glimpses of cherry petals
on the soles of shoes
[Top]
i climb the mountain with my eyes never ending snow
bird shadow
from tree shadow
to fence shadow
getting louder
the calf
the auctioneer
a pile of rocks
shifting in spring rain
the stiff old man
[Top]
coming out of the woods—
the sound of crickets,
the empty sky
mountain rose—
from thorn to thorn
a spider’s line
a single leaf falling
and with it
the morning dew
the petals scatter
over graves swept
and unswept
[Top]
An old woman with bread
waves the geese down
from the sky.
over the earth’s edge
they all go—the white clouds
and the one sailboat
amish territory
(Shipshewana, Indiana)
long beards longer
black clothes darker
under july sun
amish gentleman's
warm smile brief . . .
my skirt long and plain
an amish grin
as he cycles past
the station selling gas
the gloom within
a handcrafts store . . .
dolls with missing faces
facing mirrors
long-skirted woman
and her amish child
music on the wind
an amish foot softly taps
and abruptly stops
late night camp . . .
now a gentle lullaby
horse hooves heading home
Windswept Walk
a chain renku
windswept walk
an orange leaf
turns over
Michael Dylan Welch - June 6, 1990 - Foster City, Calif.
skyward,
the wild geese—their echo
Adele Kenny - June 12, 1990 - Fanwood, N.J.
between her white teeth
a cherry tomato
explodes
Emily Romano - June 24, 1990 - Boonton, N.J.
such boredom
after the fireworks
Alexis Rotella - June 26, 1990 - Mountain Lakes, N.J.
the black swan
paddles the moon
into its wake
David E. LeCount - June 30, 1990 - La Honda, Calif.
a doe and her fawn
hidden in shadow
Elizabeth Searle Lamb - July 7, 1990 - Santa Fe, N.M
house at auction:
all the lawn ornaments
faded to grey
Lee Gurga - July 14, 1990 - Lincoln, Illinois
I prefer some clouds
the morning after surgery
Hal Roth - July 22, 1990 - Vienna, Md.
giggles & respect kenichi's yard kanji beware of mountain crone
Marlene Mountain - August 2, 1990 - Hampton, Tenn.
flowing from his wet brush
grass words tickle her fancy
Jane Reichhold - August 6, 1990 - Gualala, Calif.
buckets set up
beside the bed
the roof leaks
Werner Reichhold - August 7, 1990 - Gualala, Calif.
heaven and earth together
cradle sleep with gentle rain
Elaine Sherlund - August 10, 1990 - Gualala, Calif.
tiny feet
from the garden shower
do a muddy stomp
Caroline Sutherland - August 12, 1990 - Gualala, Calif.
luna wings stroke twilight tones of moth
Penny Crosby - August 13, 1990 - Gualala, Calif.
after
his hands
so gentle
anne mckay - August 23, 1990 - Vancouver, B.C.
placing seed potatoes
eyes to the sky
Joe Nutt - September 4, 1990 - Staunton, Va.
in her dark hair
the blossom
whisper white
Elizabeth St Jacques - September 11, 1990 - Sault Ste. Marie, Ont
Clearing brush he finds
someone's wedding ring
Gloria H. Procsal - September 18, 1990 - Oceanside, Calif.
moving awry
with the sunspot
a widow spider
Frederick Gasser - 21 September 1990 - Youngstown, Ohio
sioux medicine man
dances his prayer
Francine Porad - September 25, 1990 - Mercer Island, Wash.
men picketing
a Chevy agency
a child asks, "parade?"
Paul O. Williams - September 27, 1990 - Belmont, Calif.
the blind man lifting
his face to the sun
Dave Sutter - September 27, 1990 - San Francisco, Calif.
Wind and Sea . . .
tiny name
on the painting
vincent tripi - September 30, 1990 - San Francisco, Calif.
brilliant on the easel
the meadow's wildflowers
Charles B. Dickson - October 31, 1990 - Doraville, Ga.
Amapola
recalling mother's perfume
on Saturday nights
Mitzi Hughes Trout - November 5, 1990 - Roswell, Ga.
"loneliest night of the week"—
searching the stars for solace
Geraldine C. Little - November 22, 1990 - Mt. Holly, N.J.
portmanteau
taken out of storage,
dark with dew
Hiroaki Sato - December 21, 1990 - New York, N.Y.
Plane rises dear of the fog
into profound darkness
Doris Heitmeyer - January 2, 1991 - New York, N.Y.
Will we go hunting
for the Blue Moon
next New Year's Eve?
Sydell Rosenberg - January 7, 1991 - Jamaica, N.Y
bleak January day
forced narcissus showing white
L. A. Davidson - January 22, 1991 - New York, N.Y.
first I saw her hair
in the wind, then the wonder
of her smile
Virginia Brady Young - February 15, 1991 - Cheshire, Conn.
no way to stop hearing
that old lovesong
Sylvia Forges-Ryan - February 19, 1991 - North Haven, Conn.
florist shop door
slowly swings shut
closing out the street noise
Karen Sohne - March 5, 1991- N. Massapequa, N.Y.
at the tap of
the baton . . .
Minna Lerman - June 1, 1991- Havertown, Pa.
both cats
beside the big glass vase
the chrysanthemums
M. M. Nichols - June 14, 1991- New York, N.Y.
gathered in a white apron
seed for next spring's planting
Lequita Vance - June 23, 1991 - Carmel, Calif.
falling leaves
day by day
the house grows brighter
darkening path
the white morning glories
lead the way
[Top]
in a backyard
two women folding sunlight
into sheets
the billboard’s shadow
a haiku/senryu sequence
late autumn
the billboard's shadow leans
into the woods
from the stream
two mallards fly straight up
through falling leaves
new year's eve blizzard—
a neon beer-sign glows
behind the steamed window
spring breeze
the woods road is still wet
under the pines
the old watering can
hangs one more rainbow
among the roses
the evening paper
on the darkening lawn—
first star
a letter stuck
in the 11th floor mail chute—
summer night
the blues singer
tells how bad it is
then the sax tells you too
quiet afternoon—
in the meadow, one daisy
leans on another
at the end of a tunnel in the clouds
a sunlit billow
crossing the tracks
at twilight—
the autumn wind
chilly sunrise
a strip of bark flutters
on the lake-side birch
twiddling my thumbs
the sun goes down,
the moon comes up
winter drizzle—
unloading a crate of live ducks
behind the chinatown restaurant
snow melts by the hardware counter—
the squares of color
in the paint catalog
in the mirrors on her dress
little pieces of my
self
a few blocks
from the street festival—
the evening quiet
at the pow-wow—
they pass out ordinary saltines
for the ceremony
while his passengers sleep,
the bus driver watches dawn
break
by the lawn's edge,
the dog barks at the darkness
then looks back at me
dead end—
a few leaves circle
in the headlights
late at night—
a woman alone in the restaurant
addressing christmas cards
snowy morning
the barber appears
in his mirrors
moonrise
the columbine still
swinging
changing pitchers—
the base-runner looks up
at a passing cloud
in the subway
the young conductor cues
imaginary oboes
climbing the stairs
more slowly—
autumn evening
the frozen puddle—
kids slide over a pattern
of red leaves
snow drifts
above the bear's den
starry night
cold spring rain—
a piece of grass sticks out of the birdhouse
Up in the sky
hardly heard, hardly seen:
migrating birds
Earth Day: Variations with Theme
sundawn
a flutter of mourning doves,
& poised, light-bathed, one faun
nearby, a bell tolls changes
mapletree buds,
their small shadows
in water-glazed mud
nearby, a bell tolls changes
white lilac
fragrantly exuberant
beside the porchdeck
nearby, a bell tolls changes
putting down a book
to listen to the god
in the half-cleared brook
nearby, a bell tolls changes
high noon
straight-up trunks of poplars shadowless
a foreshadowing ... soon, soon?
nearby, a bell tolls changes
watching a program
on Brazil’s rain forests,
anger poisons calm
nearby, a bell tolls changes
on the grass
two pitched-from-a-car beer cans.
unthinking ass!
nearby, a bell tolls changes
a cardinal's song
blends with the brilliant sunset.
surely, nothing's wrong?
nearby, a bell tolls changes
cicadas at dusk—
seventeen years hence, shall we see
substance or husk?
nearby, a bell tolls changes
in moonlight
swish of owl wings, this heartstab:
glitter can gloss blight
nearby, a bell tolls changes
First spring day
melting and melting and melting
tracks of the mountain man.
Green a-Glitter
Green a-glitter
fluttering in the sun:
the wind shines
hs 5/24/86
a butterfly’s shadow
crosses the artist’s blank canvas
the spare lines
of a wishbone
on the mauve plate
gl
under the branches, toward
the compost heap
shovelfuls of stinking earth
bring a whiff
of incense
rw
with a soft singing tongue
these strangers in sanctuary
so bright the night of seventh moon
gathering strawberries
cool and sweet
am
red smudges of dawn
on the curling river
odor of tea
rises in steam
from the dragon pot
jk
barely a glimpse
of its ruby throat
in the stillness
the river
drips from her paddle
cw
under the surface tension,
subsurface tension
for a little time
the dial tone
after you’ve gone
sg
washing your lips
from the crystal glass
beyond our silence
a train whistle
into the distance
ak
through a pale blue haze
the plummeting hawk
sharp memories
return an old fear
the glare of sun on glass
hr
honeymoon over
his clothes in the moonlight
on the rock
net cast again
deep brine waters
re
sparkling:
my scaly fish hands
shore flowers
without
petals
md
an aged odalisque
breathes fire
surfeited
with tortellini:
rain outside
hs
faint perfume wafts
from his hung-up damp coat
out all night,
the cat curls up
in the closet’s darkness
gl
my son is whispering
with a snail-shell
plasticine worms:
their colors gone
into sunset’s burn
rw
at twilight
the reapers’ last returning
her scarlet skirt
flaring
to the fiddler’s tune
am
film flaps to a stop
in the projector
afterimage
of jane darwell’s eyes
on california
jk
a fly lands on the mirror
… goes off again
in the ochre vase
seven lilies opened yesterday
three today
cw
the tabernacle.
doors thrown wide
Jesus Christ among guards
the garden caught
in shadows of the moon
sg
on the unmarked grave
a mockingbird
checking locks
as the rain
begins
ak
wet earth, the smell of it
again she turns in her sleep
a purple dawn
last of the butter beans
fill their pods
hr
wintered reeds rattle
words that pierce
egret in flight
onion skin pages
turn over in the wind
re
he wails the blues, trumpet player
alone on the darkened stage
“it’s nothing but an act”
she shouts
the dogwood turning red
is
in a drunken torpor
dream of stubborn love
hs
she wakes
to apple scent and reeling
maple leaves
gl
jobless, letting the dog
run off in the moonless night
rw
beyond
greener pastures
… that never were
am
and yet woodstock
still resonates
jk
scatterflies on the window—
the silence of bloodroot
beneath the leaves
cw
vigil lights
dissolving old feuds
sg
my own name
last
in the family Bible
ak
another year ends
snow dusted on the foothills
hr
wind
where the pines
and blackness meet
re
all night he listens
for the wild geese
is
occasional shots
of Jack Daniels:
Chattanooga
no longer idyllic;
few places are
hs
votive lights
shivering—all those earthquake
Armenian dead
seeding the compost pile
with earthworms again
gl
dark place
where square grows round
and words glow bright
even in the computer
a drift of yellow pollen
rw
shaping
the poem
slowly
a bright structure
neon green
am
planetarium music . . .
the blind boy’s fingers
land on the moon
rw
across the milky way to sado
in braille
jk
coming up the coast
the cry of snowgeese
darkened by snow
as if the tide
broke free of the shore
cw
under the peak,
cold fog blows
against petrified reeds
uptrail, bristlecone
looming and rimy
sg
pale stars
flickering over
our snow angels
called back in middle age
to a childhood home
ak
along the road to mother’s
summer grasses
already brown
a piece of driftwood
for the plastic bird
hr
out of season
amaryllis bloom
blood red
rustle of bracken
cloud hidden moon reappears
re
the mime’s hat
a little hole
large enough for crickets
salmon’s tail
river dancing
vt
silvery fog
moves in across the shore
up the cliff
wistful thoughts of
youthful warmth
hs
the fire leaps—
my grandson’s first Christmas Eve
laughter
lights out all the stockings
stuffed with starlight
gl
so late, and on the pond
someone skating—
a gleam, a scrape
a splash of sparks
a whirring stone
rw
centered
by north light
the potter’s wheel
small dreams
curve within her hands
am
spectrums of color
volley back into themselves
paperweigh
a shriek from somewhere
at the masked ball
jk
walking home at dawn
a witch
with a shoe in each hand
on the pilings
barnacles wait for the tide
cw
groan
and thunder of the stream at flood
remote as childhood
two last oar-swirls
finally still
sg
a kingfisher
diving into
the moon
the golden hooves
of the carousel horse
ak
a plover circles—
just beyond the sawgrass
there are graves
I miss the flash
of her white teeth
hr
between darkness
and light
the flutter of a moth
the night’s sound
where all the hard words go
re
Hike up the mountain …
the book about God
weighs me down.
Old footbridge …
past looking
vt
after heavy rain
the moon appears, bright,
over the marsh
all the dreams linger,
unfaded, still
hs 9/24/90
night storm—
a deeper dark unrolls
across the prairie
Return to the Wall
The Vietnam Veterans Memorial, Washington, DC
removing her wedding ring
she brushes ¡t along
her husband's name
son of an MIA
the flag pin on his lapel
upside-down
woman touches a name
while looking at
an old photo
elderly couple
their faces reflected
over their son's name
man in a filthy army jacket
tries to scratch on
his name
a candle
left burning on the ground
its flame almost out
Note: "The Wall," born of the author’s first impressions of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, appeared in the November 1988 issue of Frogpond.
[Top]
anzio beach …
another wave gathers
and breaks
76A2103
How many dew drops make up these walls?
On razor wire
squats a crow—
winter night
The guards in their towers:
silk worms in cocoons of light
Black-uniformed winter fly
greeting me
behind bullet-proof glass
Walls of ice
deep in forests
frozen frogponds
My silver shackles—
gossamer threads
under these stars
Old guard escorting me
coughing like bullfrog
cigarette smoke for breath
Prison cat in shadows
stalking the shaft of searchlight
Capturing snowflake fireflies with my tongue
Beating time with nightstick,
cricket sound
while I urinate
Oh, winter moon,
what have you done now
keep-locked with the mountains?
A thousand temple bells—
the noise of the cell block
Suddenly they all look like green bullfrogs!
Decorating my cell again
I notice roommate—
a silverfish on my pillow
From out of Henderson’s Haiku,
my old wife’s photograph:
cells doors automatically locking.
soothing rain:
the mown meadow releases
pungence of mint
collecting early colors linked lines
september 88 october 89
british columbia ontario
and now the rains and grey silk rivers a
river rocks collecting early colors e
a silvered thimble too in the magpie's nest a
blackwinged birds echoes zigzag orange e
remembering the mark of zorro ... a
midnight moon the cougar's intense eyes e
catscradle quick between small fingers a
daily grows the first snowman e
but so few the carolers this year a
streetcorner santas tambourines and bells e
returning soon the gypsies the dance a
now sun incites soft trickling songs e
and again the seven days of poppies rushing red a
on the female statue a blush of moss e
this hourglass reminding me reminding me a
... twenty aprils since your dandelion pleasures e
spilling the wine bright drops of pizzicato a
a mouse scurries from the silo e
the clock strikes twelve … and all's well a
monks in mantra file e
always and softly the voice of the drum a
rhythm met by moccasins e
small water snake … consider the form the beauty a
the carrot peel its curl e
sharpening the knife his sly smile a
she hums silver on her fingernails e
this last night of august night of the halfmoon a
tiny echoes her moonstone rosary e
in the nave sparrow resting with ‘our lady of sorrows’ a
small bleached bones in a nest of leaves e
forgotten now those songs from the children’s hour a
clown tipping his invisible hat e
dreamspinners drift away with dawn grey on grey a
a cloud in the cup’s tealeaves e
sealed and cool jars of blackberries and blue a
her pride … this autumn ritual a
Butterfly shadows …
not finding
the butterfly
Abandoned Farmhouse
abandoned farmhouse:
bird nest in the mail box
also deserted
abandoned farmhouse:
wallpaper peeling back to
my childhood
abandoned farmhouse:
something scratching
inside the furnace
abandoned farmhouse:
the quiet bedroom where I
feared the dark
abandoned farmhouse: a
yellowed grocery list taped
to the counter top
abandoned farmhouse: a
moth flies out of the water
faucet
abandoned farmhouse:
my daughter
snaps pictures of our visit
Into old pots and pans
thrown out in the backyard—
the musical rain
New Orleans Wedding
here & there
in bare treetops
mistletoe
in a shabby motel
all night
treefrogs in rain
cottonmouths
in the swamp ...
a house on stilts
**
family get-together
all the eyes all the feelers
all the hands tearing shrimp
morning in the French Quarter
café au lait &
beignets with sparrows
the river wind blows
into the Quarter
& through his saxophone
on the riverfront
a stranger
takes my smile
the breeze
off the Mississippi
fills my skirt
behind grillwork
down darkness to sun
in a hidden courtyard
cool the alley
through the grillwork swirls
cat pee smell
in the morning shops
half the doorways
fill with shade
all the Mardi Gras colors
in the masks
in the houses
on the iron lace balconies
only flowers
sunning
from the suite dusk
fills in the river
& all the tiny lights are slow
**
huge limbs of the live oak
their reaching out
over the young grass
in a pecan grove
wandering spring shadows
cows & blackbirds
parked on the runway
its wings drooped a B-52
the winter sun
the slow day ...
in the empty motel corridor
a stack of dirty dishes
sundown in the empty bar
the player-piano keys
begin
the big waitress departs
the china teapot
shakes
January sun ...
the cotton fields
dotted with leftovers
[Top]
cajun cabin …
the aroma of hot gumbo
floats on the bayou
Beachfront Suicide: Reflections at Dusk
Gunshot!
The tide of gulls breaks
like a scattering wave
Gathering silence
in my mind is
the hardest thing to do
Against the wind's chill
I button my sweater
feet dug in sand
The sun slips low
a carnelian red paving
the water with dark light
How many wanderers
have followed the sun
down?
(The girl with the soul
of a gull
never came back)
Questions
purl like schools of fish
in dangerous waters
Questions
without breath without answers
a broken shell
on Lookout Rock
one step
to the red hawk
Six Ways of Seeing Summer Rain
I
A red shaft of light
dances on your moist eyelids:
the searing morning.
II
Frog Mountain rises
to arch its back in the clouds:
unforeseen downpour.
III
Three men and three birds
stand still in the forest, all
surprised by rain.
IV
Rain like the Deluge:
a mudspattered Apache
sings in Cibecue.
V
The day hides itself
within a grove of aspen.
Thunder pursues it.
VI
Uprooted clouds:
Summer holds the pale mountains,
calls down the clear night.
gone from the wood
the bird I knew
by song alone
Flashes of Sunset . . . All the Way Home
Flashes of sunset
between the cars
the eastbound freight
old railroad tracks
bobbing sunflowers surround
the turquoise outhouse
violet aster
still bright
behind me
in blue-black ocean night
the ferry's churning white wake
fades in the distance Gita Bodner
after her phonecall
following wet footprints
back to the bath
hikers at dusk
spilling with shadows
out the canyon mouth
high country
feeling the forest
hidden in the dark
sleeping in his be
—a dream
of her grandson's return Richard Bodner
Honolulu airport
breathing wet warm air
sniffs of unknown flowers
road to Ooty:
wrestling on the edge
of the State Fisheries tank
—two soaked monkeys
sunrise didj at Ulsoor Lake
dobi-wallahs slap
their morning loads on stone
mountain hotspring
snowflakes sink in
the rising steam Gus Bodner
waking my daughter
frost-flowers on the window
from her breath
driving to meet our son
—nighthawks fly
before the storm cloud
past the plane's great wing
a strip of thin grass shimmers
in the jet wind
wet pavement
the smell of sage
all the way home Virginia Bodner
Notes: didj/didjeridoo: an aboriginal instrument; dobi-wallahs: washer-persons
longest night—
his forehead burning
into my hand
Records of a Well-Polished Satchel: #6 Angles of Loneliness
what passion
you had, Akiko—
where can I put
even an inch
of tonight's anguish!
sucking
chocolate squares—
oh, it's a lonely beginning
this first night of return
to Japan
under this Basholess
pre-dawn sky
how rough
the angle of loneliness
along this eastern sea
bent
like a puzzle
in a child's hand,
that back before me
in the pre-dawn dark
is it a walking
umbrella?
immense the black
over that bent-against-the-wind
angle of loneliness
a crane
skipping before me
on this seaside road,
its leg
a karate lift?
I hug
the boy to me—
how brave he was to point and say
This is a pencil
This is a cup
on my office couch
I lean back,
back,
this Nescafe's
the length of my desire
in this bare
late-afternoon life
I make
my bare dinner
and set out fork and knife
wanting
to embrace
even a sleeve—
tonight's
lonely angle
[Top]
snow geese
Sarah discovers
the letter V
Revenant
suddenly—
twenty years later
you taste the same
through two marriages
framed behind Beethoven
your picture
talking with him
I taste you
in the tea you serve
on your porch
only the breeze
moves between us
in the dark car
the scent of you
and the rainy fields
juice from the apple
runs into my beard
as I wait for you
in the mirror
the only picture
of us together
your perfume—
looking up startled
at a stranger
in the cold fireplace
my last letter
burning
Walking Home on a Summer Afternoon
summer afternoon—
the priest takes a blue pencil
from the blind man
coming up through
a gap in the city bridge
a checkerspot butterfly
backfire—
a checkerspot in its sound
shifts direction
dog coming out
with the cathedral crowd
tail upward
half way home
pole shadows reach across
the widening road
train whistle—
two jets wrap the sky
with mist
a block from home
a pair of rain drops find
my haiku notes
a swallowtail
settles
on the prize-winning quilt
Shohomish County Jail Haiku (For Karol)
Under cloudless skies;
nuclear resister jailed
missiles free to fly
April sun slanting
across the exercise yard
jail-bar shadows
Basketball stops
in the exercise yard—
convicts shoot the breeze
This heat!
snow-clad mountains framed
by my jail cell window
Little ladybug
caught after visiting hours:
doing jail time, too
Starting a new month
in Snohomish County Jail;
same old tea bag
Chilly June morning—
in a spider web
the jailhouse fly hangs
Sixty day jail term—
as it grows shorter
my growing beard
Last night’s fading dream …
On the blue teapot birds drift
beyond the willows
Wintering Over: New York Haiku
From the fire escape
the cry of the mourning dove
wintering over
New condominium
its exhaust grate claimed by
a new derelict
Wind chill minus five
the piercing whistles
of the starlings
The young mother
stoops to warm the child's mittens
between her gloves
Between lace curtains
the white cat's eyes
follow a snowflake
A crow flies down
to land in the new snow
its voice ringing
Madison Avenue
a row of ginkgoes mulched
with old Xmas trees
Suet on a string
suspended from a snowy branch
three sparrows make it spin
In the shadow of
office buildings, bagpiper's
Amazing Grace
on the cardboard box
holding the frozen wino:
Fragile: Do Not Crush
[Top]
walking alone
the way oak leaves
refuse to fall
Eaves
pulling sound
from the wind
a horse-drawn plow:
sunflowers stand
in the traces
still in the taste
of afternoon tea,
my grandmother’s brogue
[Top]
autumn dusk the crooked road home
The worm
far out on this paved lot
more rain
top of the falls
your voice somewhere
in its sound
a steady rain
the dentist’s drill
turning to snow
[Top]
bitter wind . . .
the hand that cups the flame
aglow
a moth flies
through my breath
in moonlight
The family gathered—
a tear of embalming fluid runs
from my brother’s eye
winter morning—
the closet dark with
old shoes
[Top]
paddling slowly
through the reeds
that touch her hair
moving into the sun
the pony takes with him
some mountain shadow
autumn sky
the wind folds and unfolds
a flock of sparrows
The sound of scissors
through quilt stuffing:
chill autumn moon
autumn maple
a gust of yellow scatters
the child’s laughter
[Top]
that sonofabitch
on the corner has a knife—
the rain glistens on it
away from eyes
the stairwell holds
us in its arms
Against his coat
I brush my lips—
the silence of snowflakes
the old woman
looking into the stars
sky all snowy
[Top]
Thin icicles
on the telephone wire
her distant voice
the old garden fence
now keeps the goldenrod
from the goldenrod
Winter’s end
a bitterness remaining
in the dried apricots
still
childless:
milkweed
[Top]
switching off the light
switching off the shadows
hot rock by the stream
each of the baby’s toeprints
evaporating
one cricket sound and silence lighting the autumn garden
hoping the shape
of the navel will be good
father cuts the cord
