haiku - Sept. 30, 2022
try cucumber cooked there’s a new kid in the soup kicking some old tongues
try cucumber cooked there’s a new kid in the soup kicking some old tongues
every ooh and aah we aim if for a flower’s sunny side the dressed up showoff side the hair and makeup side the red carpet side preferred...
you could say a poet is like the spy who breaks into places looking for classified information skeletons or warm bodies in closets...
peeing two a.m. bathed in the skylight’s moonlight so nice to feel loved
stand up straight! a needed mantra for my sway back like a tall parenthesis bordering a crowd of crooked I’s the spinal pain of...
if you’ve ever jumped from a cliff into water you know how you enter the sheet of liquid is critical to avoid the pain of a back or belly...
a drop of water runs down the glass joins the puddle draining from the bottom of the shower which made me think how we lag behind some...
this basil leaf picked and shredded into the tomato soup reminds me this earth serves us the house and table ladle bowl and napkin a...
a ripe mango fell in the wind a buttery splat on the sidewalk lucky for one honeybee the ants must be doing some housekeeping with it all...
it’s the perfect circle some bug cut in a leaf that left me pining over a half poem and wondering about a hole mystery
who doesn’t put an eye on the lone raven perched on the park bench and look back as they pass? rumors of delinquency a bad reputation...
move beyond dogs kids parents spouses friends to reach the immeasurable go from lover to Lover? for a very long time capital “L” was my...
an evening’s end alone on a bench face painted by a fully mellowed moon the art of eyes asking the unanswerable to silent stars begging...
I could write (and you might like) an extended dedication poem some huge spreadsheet of your marvels and talents which would require...
overhead a jet bullies the wind cuts and bucks through it straight lines the sky one destination next to the pond a butterfly rides a...
if I have a headache I might write a short poem A dark and forgettable haiku search the afternoon rain when I’m tired it’s stop and go in...
I’ve noticed trees never hold back when the wind-music starts they are compelled to dance as much as we seem socially bound to hold back...
i don’t look back much for what’s happening now has replaced that which has happened every instant born a whispering traveler for a short...