.
after all the trips silver shallows
.
Photo (reworked) from a walk in Faversham, earlier this summer.
Nothing
Please don’t read beyond the title. This is not a poem, nor is it a haibun, short story, or flash.
It has no beginning, middle or end. No development of any sort. It is here as a no thing, and by reading it you gain nothing. Unless you make it into something.
petals or thorns
a scratch on the surface
of infinity
Published at ‘the other bunny‘ August 3, 2015
cherry blossom
a bar regular vents
his spleen
.
p 24
*
question time
the where, when, and how
of peonies
.
p 25
*
in Sonic Boom
Delighted to have two of my one-line haiku published:
*
numerically speaking the soul sucks
*
blending spring with daisies you get a billboard
+
Bones – journal for contemporary haiku (in PDF)
no. 7, july 15, 2015
mother’s day
pushing all the wrong
buttons
.
Frogpond 2015, 38:2, p.11
ash wednesday
my thin layer
of platitudes
Frogpond 2015, 38 : 2, p.11
deep blue skies
the dragonfly’s limpid
efficiency

AWAD: limpid
.
Sharing from last week’s excursion to Bad Bayersoien; a swimmer got into difficulties and the emergency doctor had to be called. He was there in a matter of minutes, by helicopter. Impressive! I hope the swimmer had a speedy recovery too.
On dragonflies
sizzling noon
how can silence be
so loud

Photo: From my walk in Bad Bayersoien
butterfly–
maundering on
about herself
.
AWAD: maunder
fardel of sticks
the apple tree’s fall
from grace
,
AWAD: fardel
rambling rose—
her hair caught
on a thorn
.
AWAD: ramble
and the haiga I made using this poem is from a photo of a dark passage under a bridge in the old town of Guenzburg
absorbing
sunlight through her black habit
sober nun
.
AWAD: sorb
connate leaves
the taxi driver’s
quiet humanity
.
AWAD: connate
on the road—
the wounded deer’s
panting
viola
the splenetic kid stops
and listens
.
AWAD: splenetic
garden vistas
the rocket salad
piled high
.
rocket: arugula
*
helianthus
enervated sun emits
a plasma flare
.
AWAD: enervate
in high spirits…
precipitous vineyards
of the Mosel
.
AWAD: precipitous
Mosel wine region
fructuous hours
the riverbank awash in
crabs
.
AWAD: fructuous
prolegomenon…
pressed between the pages
morning glories
.
AWAD: prolegomenon
thin clothes—
turbid veins of the heart
of darkness
.
AWAD: turbid
no smoke without fire
on swidden hills
blood red poppies
.
AWAD: swidden
tenebrous rooms
even the sun
papered over
.
AWAD: tenebrous
cuckoo’s egg
the charlatan adjusts
his voice
.
A few days ago I subscribed to the daily email from Wordsmith.org, A.Word.A.Day: Discover the magic of words, and started responding with a haiku.
Today’s word: charlatan
. . . endolymph. . . endo . . . interior . . . dreams . . . inner voice . . . nymph . . . Rilke’s “a girl . . . made herself a bed inside my ear” . . . my ear . . . labyrinth . . . cochlea . . . conch . . . shell . . . sea . . . Aegean . . . crashing waves . . . stop! . . . waves lapping the shore . . . sails . . . seagulls . . . shrieks . . . my tinnitus . . . rushing water . . . endolymph . . .
wherever you go
the ship follows you . . .
siren song
.
In The other bunny
Dear Yannis
In our hands, you said, we hold
the shadow of our hands. I know
the cold absence of the marbles,
olives sprouting from the cracks.
The coffee grinder turns
slowly, gently. The moon
still kind, bathes our wrinkled
hearts in light. In silver. In sorrow.
Old souls sitting by the river
listening to the boat engine
starting, coughing, spitting,
dying. Starting again.
(to Yiannis Ritsos, in response to his poem “Absence”)
.
Poem written to the poetsonline prompt: Dear Poet: Epistles to the Poets. For the other poems on the poetsonline.org blog, please see Archive, ‘Dear Poet’ on their site.
Please note English spelling of the original Greek name varies (Yiannis [e.g. Wikipedia], Yannis [e.g. Poetry Foundation]). Wikipedia lists a number of variants: ‘Yannis or Yiannis or Giannis (Γιάννης) is a common Greek name, a variant of John (Hebrew) meaning “God is generous.” Variants include Ioannis (Ιωάννης), Yanni, Iannis, Yannakis; and the rare “Yannos”, usually found in the Peloponnese and Cyprus.’
Whenever I thought of the ravages time would inflict on me, I thought of wrinkles. I imagined myself slightly plump, with a few strategically placed wrinkles and a very respectable grey sheen in my hair. I also considered liver spots, imagining myself smiling benevolently behind a seemingly sun-blessed veil of freckles. Now that I’ve reached a point when time weighs on me… let’s say, there have been surprises, indiscretions, indignities. Take the slight pearl that sometimes appears and glistens on the side of my mouth.
honeydew
a blush spreads over the edge
of the precipice
.
In KYSO Flash, May 2015
cup-shaped blooms
the outpouring of
emotion
.
In Blithe Spirit (Journal of the British Haiku Society) 25:2, 2015