I confess I play fast and lose with the more rigid definitions of Haiku that may exist. "Collected Haiku (and assorted short forms)" include the standard 5-7-5 format, short forms I wrote for postcards, epistles that have a religious and/or elegiac tone, and a few experiments combining the haiku form with the 14-line thematic structure. I'll Leave it to you to figure out which is which. Enjoy!
I have often heard it said
there are no two snowflakes –
alike –
and fingerprints are a sign
that one’s hidden deeds will be –
reconstructed –
and it’s impossible to stand
in the same running river –
twice –
but who knew that tears –
of sadness, or joy, or grief –
vary, one from the other?
-
the bitterness of green tea
makes it a special brew –
tastebuds awaken
when they sense it
in their space –
we add a bit of honey
to take the edge off,
but that only really works
in our dreams –
the second infusion
may be smoother –
but traces of bitterness
yet remain...
-
Epistle #1
rose garden, un-promised
thorns protect and prick
bees pollinate and sting
missing your touch
your voice, your sense
of style - I was too young
to understand
forty years shrink to
a single moment in time,
in space, in thought
we are alone, and you -
you are in the ground
and in our hearts and memories
Epistle #2
did I become what
you had hoped I would?
did my achievements
surprise or disappoint you?
i know you were with me
every step of the way. You
never deserted me. But
did I desert you? Did I
prove myself worthy?
Epistle #3
I still have all your letters -
a few years ago I began
their transcription
but stopped out of fear
I might conjure you up/back,
and disturb your peace,
your sleep, your rest
Epistle #4
life is morphing, changing
new opportunities are
self-presenting,
eclipsing the old -
there are still souls to save
Epistle #5
under the watchful eye
of the green flag waving
and the two isosceles triangle
imposed -
I head down to the river
for my morning walk
Epistle #6
took a July vacation from blogging
ended the job, closed out the house,
packed the car, made the trip:
first to Greensboro, then to DC -
aka Chocolate City, Head of the Beast,
Whore of Babylon -
Epistle #7
Thank you for the fishing trips,
and the science fair helps,
for each time you took me
with you to work,
and for each piece of advice
that fell from your trembling lips -
wouldn’t be the same without
your presence, good or ill.
Epistle #8
I know you had your demons
and your burdens were great -
and tragedy outweighed comedy -
and life was far from fair -
I choose to think
you did your best -
until it all became
a crushing blow.
but enough of hyperbole.
Epistle #9
I fell behind, I’m late
the world turned upside down
We saw a film about a setting star -
extinguished too soon
by love and drugs and pain
her lyrics, poetry
blew my mind. The way
she turned a phrase.
Nothing short of magic.
Epistle #10
ten represents completion
and a new stage beginning
but first the old expires -
the ancient, the wrong-tracked
each day brings new opportunities
new random chances
new rolls of the worn dice
and I am learning Agile
Epistle #11
I recently concluded
I may be descended
from aliens
there’s something I need
and cannot find anywhere.
It must be out in space
Epistle #12
just started a new job
where all the cubicles are empty
and you need a coded card
to move from place to place
there’s no work being done.
Perhaps they are waiting on m
Epistle #13
tonight there is happy hour
lots of drinks being served -
but alcohol never makes me
happy - just grumpy and sleepy -
call it grumpy hour
Epistle #14
you have to type fast
to get two consecutive tweets -
pausing to think
will set you off course
so many voices competing
for so limited space
Epistle #15
broken wrist
is on the mend
but the arrhythmia
that brought about the fall –
we now know –
is a different story. i’m black –
ain’t i got rhythm?
-
Wednesday Haiku
Death’s shadow stalks us
Lurking in the crevices
Between the silence
Sleepless in Lisbon
Jet lagged from Ultramar flight
Eyes red and blinking
Not a single bite
From the mosquitoes that halt
The empire’s army.
suitcase living sucks
But some Fado Sunday night
Makes it all worthwhile.
-
Mar Atlantico
How many souls
have spent months, years,
lives in your embrace?
The beach is calm, placid.
Waves, incoming, lightly kiss
the shore and repeat.
Light kisses that please,
Hypnotize, and deceive.
In the distance,
in the far distance,
You already know the sound
Of the roar and crash
Of waves that break
-
August Postcard PoetryFest 2016
So what the heck?
I just signed up.
Can I stop it now?
Is there ink still in my pen?
A pulse in my veins?
Sunday Haiku – July 24
Words don’t always fall
Streaming like pearls from your lips –
Sounds – the soul’s delight.
Propaganda rules
The flat television screen –
Encircling my thoughts.
I won’t send this card
Until August starts – a stamp
And a poem will come.
Haiku may not fit
Your need or mine but we write
To occupy time.
I’d leave this sad world
In a heartbeat if I knew
What awaits beyond.
All the folks talking
Inside their echo chambers –
Hard to know what’s what.
Some Haiku for Sunday
First line has five beats.
But isn't that Japanese?
Heck! Translation fails.
Poesia-me.
Romance me. Make me a rhyme.
Let me be the poem.
Things still remain wrapped
up – that want to be unwound –
thoughts and worlds unformed.
#Saturday Librarian Haiku
7/30/2016
okra grows too fast –
you can almost hear the sound
it makes maturing.
Writing haiku is –
like playing scales for warm-up –
stretching for a run.
The buzz/glow you bring
when we meet is better than
weed when we’re apart.
08/02/2016
make from thought conceived –
freely, stress-less, gratitude –
plus purposeful pause…
Saturday Haiku - The Clairol Lady commercial
The Clairol commercial
used to ask: Is it true blondes
(white girls) have more fun?
My baby’s black hair
turns copper in the golden sun –
don’t need no bottled dye.
Wednesday Haiku (8/3/16)
Making haiku swing
Like Knight, and Wright at the end –
Swing dat hammer, swing.
Wednesday Haiku II (8/10/16)
a poem for the dead -
an elegy - won't bring them
back to life again.
letting the dead speak
through your poetry is cause
for celebration.
elegies fall short -
the deceased prefer to speak
through the poet's words.
Friday Haiku (8/12/2016)
The soil was bone dry.
I hope the bean sprouts don't die
of negligent thirst.
Politics - pimps, whores,
tricks - wait their turn quietly,
ashamed, desperate.
The storm never came.
Preparations were for naught.
Worry - thief of time.
Portuguese crioule -
a language made for haiku -
words with hidden thoughts.
No need getting mad -
a pimp don't pimp nothing but
a whore - a trick - dead.
Let's just accept it.
Like many of our ancestors -
and Superman - Simone Biles can fly!
Saturday Haiku (8/13/2016)
fields of tobacco
stretch far as the eye can see -
Carolina - home.
a hot summer day
rushing home on the Orange Line -
swamp bottom heat.
if my handwriting
is illegible - I blame
mefloquine dreams.
Don't let my last poems
be sad sonnets - let them breathe
deeply of haiku.
why is structure sought?
let words rip and roll off lips
still pleasant to kiss.
Haiku - my escape
from life's quibbles and quarrels -
hide me in these lines.
Saving MY haiku -
to post post-August - Postcard
rules tell me to do.
Haiku wants to be FREE!
Wants to SCREAM! but remains
mute in its closet.
Are all sounds echoes
from a distant past? Are words
just leftover dreams?
#SundayHaiku is
on a serious roll - y'all'd
better check it out!
ain't mad at Shaunae -
she flew to that finish line -
don't blame her at all.
Sunday Haiku (10/2/2016)
HD redux 1
rose, harsh, more precious -
caught in drift, flung in the sand -
fragrance-hardened leaf.
sea poppies redux
never dug this poem -
poppies in the sea, surround,
among wet pebbles.
N a station of the Metro redux
reading image poems
on the edge. Clarifying -
storytelling - sounds.
might cut and paste them
to my blog - there to live -
prosperous and long.
2nd episode.
Hero and anti-hero becoming.
Pop dead.
checking out the thread
that connects Stein pulp fiction
to HD image poems.
writing haiku is -
like practicing scales, like stretching
before the next race.
doing laundry, chores
on a Sunday morning beats
the mindless talk shows.
His left hand- an oar -
She holds a baby, smiling
In a modest way.
The wind fills the sail -
The water shimmers - motion
Across the blue sea.
Interpretation
Secretly she has her wants -
For him - only work.
artist's emotions -
Hurt - far short of masterpiece -
Victorious - Done.
Disturbing city scenes
People asleep in doorways -
The land of plenty.
A lot is going on
with these three - the painter
offers many clues.
Never know who you'll
run into at Whole Foods on
a Monday morning.
We don't discuss Toomer
as an imagist in #ModPo.
He was there.
Inbound ambulance
Siren screaming - guitar sounds
Just like B B King.
Mentor told me I'd
never get rich off poems that don't
rhyme. She was right.
Heavy gray covered
Capitol South - in Foggy
Bottom skies were blue.
#WeatherReportHaiku
Sunday Haiku (10/9/2016)
MIlitarism -
poisons us - threatens our peace -
slows our freedom march.
After all the dust
is settled, and the newness
worn off - what will be?
Sunday Haiku (10/16/2016)
Generations gone -
Wore out, beat down, smashed to bits -
Still. Never give up.
Somebody's writing
Haiku today. Don't you feel
the beat, the power?
Don't get it twisted.
Eye still on the prize. Finger
on the quickened pulse.
Haiku on Twitter -
smoke signals to my kinsmen -
long gone, yet to come.
Some Haiku (12/16/2016 - 12/25/2016)
frozen water pipes.
how can I graduate
with sticky armpits?
Nice language mixup -
How'd you know? How would I know?
French. Je parle. Tout suite.
Takes two to tango.
If we stop breathing we die.
Truth's in the storm's eye.
Chores took up my day.
Errands to run, friends to see.
There was art in it.
Art reveals to each.
I'd better pause, take stock. I
would not want a loss.
"If you learn the call
of the nightingale, what will
you know of its love?"
I need new glasses -
old ones no longer fit me/
bifocals don't work.
a new point of view
might be the best solution
for my lethargy
Perhaps it will help
to start, disconnectedly,
each message anew.
Now there's a backlog
of haiku I never sent,
words never mentioned.
all the more reason
to share the whole collection
with you - now and then.
what more’s there to do
on a rainy Saturday -
but read quaint Haiku?
I looked it up. Mired
in controversy, to say
the least. Rich story.
Yep! I'm gonna have
to see this statue today!
If I can get out.
I stopped getting mad
when errant heartbeats strangled
my poetic thoughts.
Sometimes you just need
a hug, or a joint, a poem
that shape shifts the space.
Did I mention that
the tumeric-ginger tea
arrived? I'm cooking.
Always a good day
when Poetry magazine
arrives. Lunch was fun.
Indeed! But don't get
Crazy with emails just cuz
You have a folder!
Too much Fox news in
my diet. But with Gwen gone
what are my choices?
Anybody heard
of Poetry Brothel? Is
it worth checking out?
Inauguration
still needs a poem, an anchor
that limits the sway.
Something Walt Whitman
would say would make a cold Jan
speech palatable.
a better outcome -
PEOTUS Trump pardons both
to heal the nation.
I have a folder!
Now that is something special.
A port in a storm.
I told you last week
After spending 90 cleaning
That was my solution
Peaceful transition
of power. And a new day
on the horizon.
A new beginning.
Novus Ordem Seclorum.
Make it great again.
Boycott. An old tool
from a bygone era.
Past time to re-equip.
You told me. It's true.
Sometimes I'm slow and miss stuff.
Blame the all boys' school.
postscript. I never
applied for the PG county
job. Weekends required.
Went to bed early
last night. Couldn't tolerate
Scandal on TV.
If they take her back,
they deserve what she brings them -
third-rate thuggery.
resistance, dissent -
what you get when you treat white
kids like niggers
if you drain the swamp
and the pimps and whores remain -
it's still a whorehouse.
K Street used to be
whorehouses, undertakers -
now - the high, mighty.
discrimination
is not always a bad word -
but will you convert?
New job onboarding.
Fingerprinted, photographed,
signed - bureaucratized.
waiting - on the edge -
for your Portuguese haiku -
highlight of my day.
Be - unlike the world -
inside, all around, and out -
opposites attract.
A pleasant thought - in
All you do or think or dream -
I hope - you are loved.
Hysteria reigns,
occupying every thought.
Don't be duped again.
Two fell for a fake
Tweet because it supported
The lie they needed.
Old Elijah went straight
to heaven - didn't pause at
Peter's pearly gate.
Why would anyone
take that job? All the blame and
can't bring your own team?
Headlines overstate -
the truth - somewhere in-between -
the Bottom's unchanged.
-
Fragments
I made a mistake
once upon a time
and only recorded half
of a poetic conversation.
When, years later, I tried
to retrieve the other half,
I learned it got lost
in Katrina. Self-obsessed,
self-centered, just plain
selfish. But regrets/amends
don't bring back a thing
that is irretrievably lost.
Won't make that mistake
again on any level.
Haiku
whenever I see
a Swiss visitor landing -
I hope it is you.
I miss you - sometimes.
It comes and goes - like the wind
blows - surprising me.
I tried to conjure
you up - but mojo's not as
strong as it once was
Ossos do oficio -
comes with the job -
goes with the territory -
perks are burdens in drag.
April 23, 2017 - Elevenie
Bluegrass - darkest secret.
my deepest love.
That music thrills me -
tranquility.
Green Tea -
smooth, tart,
always totally satisfying.
I enjoy each potful,
completely.
July 6, 2017 - Postcard #1
My arrhythmia was
OK for the quarter -
The doctor checked
and told me today.
Episodes were
irregular, infrequent
and of short duration -
small wonder in the
world where we live
July 6, 2017 - Postcard #2
The rain this morning
was more like April
than July -
Soft, steady, cool
raindrops splattered
on my forehead
and my glasses.
-
Ten ways of reading a murder mystery novel
1.
Things have to be bizarre
to capture the imagination
of the average reader these days
2.
Normality doesn't sell movies
or popcorn, or peanuts -
like boring baseball
and watching paint dry
3.
I knew the author
when she was a poet and
a precision swimmer -
playing chess with hobos
in Dupont Circle
4.
There was a summer
compulsion, or sorts,
a need to exploit
a temporary freedom
5.
Our paths crossed
like two ships in the night,
then diverged because
only opposites attract.
6.
Fortunately, perhaps,
our meeting never went
beyond the superficial
at its inception.
7.
I can't find me
in the composite
of the principal characters.
No plot role for me, unless
it's in the self deception
8.
Happy to see our poetry
survived the flood, woven
intricately into the mystery plot
9.
Understanding the author
and the world of her imagination
is important, maybe paramount
10.
The location influences
character development
on the periphery only. Human
nature, ubiquitous,
is the strongest determinant.
-
July 6, 2017 - Postcard #3
the 4th of July
came and went -
some shopping,
burgers and fries at Five Guys,
the sound of fireworks after sunset
gave me flashbacks to Baghdad.
July 7, 2019 - Postcard #4
Went to Queen of Sheeba
yesterday - prices were lower
and service was quicker.
Food is just as good as Chercher.
But all the customers were men, again.
I just don't know what is up.
Enjoy your day!
July 8, 2017 - Postcard #5
Some days I wish
I were not a poet -
I wouldn't worry about
how words sound together -
I wouldn't force completed
thoughts into fourteen lines
with an occasional rhyme -
I wouldn't feel compelled
to send my thoughts
to friends on a postcard.
July 8, 2017 - Postcard #6
I used to care about poetry
contests and getting published
and all that stuff.
But these days I only want
to record in words
each moment
I spend with you, Wisdom.
July 14, 2017 - Postcard #7
Who am I, are we,
to judge? Beauty. Practicality.
Intelligence. Efficiency.
What do we know?
Words, sounds, thoughts.
Who am I, are we,
to judge?
July 14, 2017 - Postcard #8
If I lived in a state -
I might write a letter
to my elected representative
every now and then.
If I lived in a state -
maybe I'd run
for a congressional seat.
After all, I know
foreign policy, government
bureaucracy, and how laws
are really made.
If I were a citizen
of a state, I just might
go for it.
July 14, 2017 - Postcard #9
I am reading a paper,
Archives in the Ancient World.
The title reminds me
of the place where I work.
Nothing state-of-the-art here.
New machines stored
in big brown boxes
will never see the light of day.
Interesting artifacts
should be on display,
not squirreled away in
acid-free containers.
July 14, 2017 - Postcard #10
I gave it my best -
I was glad I didn’t
have to do it anymore.
It was never worth
the promises they made -
to deal with all the
aggravation and ingratitude.
The dead may bury the dead.
And I will burn the bridge
that delivered me
before the clock ran out.
July 15, 2017 #11
you may not remember
it's been nine years
since our last conversation
All is forgotten.
all is forgiven.
All is displaced
by new things
in our conversations.
July 16, 2017 - Postcard #12
I've made you the composite
of all my former lovers -
across the seasons, across
all boundaries, a character
in a pulp-fiction novel.
It's unkind to include
all those identities into one
situation, one impossible role
to be performed, lacking
consistency or authenticity.
July 17, 2017 #13
We, the living - so much
to be thankful for.
Death, the end - has no
remediation to speak of.
My office is windowless,
but at least I know
where to go to see
the sunlight.
July 18, 2017 #14
my wife says it's time
for a new poetry collection,
original stuff, not the
found poetry like before
She is usually right
and she has her favorite
selections all teed up.
I just need to cut and paste.
July 24, 2017 #16
I forgot that password again!
Wouldn't it be easier
if a single password
opened everything?
July 24, 2017 #17
Friends didn't like
my last poem.
At least they didn't seem
too excited about it.
OK. You can only please
some of the people
some of the time
July 25, 2017 #20
I am actually thinking
about canceling my Foreign
Service Journal subscription
and union dues.
All I read are the obits
anymore & I should
probably let the dead
bury the dead.
July 26, 2017 #21
It was a daring escape
sneaking out of the hot
dungeons of Babylon.
unfortunately, I didn't
escape alone. Ghosts
of Babylon slipped out
with me.
But I was home and they
couldn't last too long
in the cool mountain
climate.
August 7, 2017 #23
I take the long route home
at end of the day - more time
for reading on the subway
And I don't rush for departing
trains - the next one is coming
and will be less crowded
August 11, 2017 #25
I am seeing objects
in rapid random motion
on my mind's periphery
Items I never knew
existed, never even
gave a reality to
before they appeared.
the items must think I'm
ready to see them
August 11, 2017 #26
Rushing home today
and hoping someone
has uploaded today's
episode of Eastenders
on youtube so we can
watch it and chat over dinner
July 26, 2017 #25
So I saw the evil twin again today -
I think I made a premature judgment
based on height and hair and skin color -
I passed her on New Hampshire Ave:
she's skinnier and not nearly as attractive -
perhaps there is only one you after all!
Blackjack Haiku #1
let’s meet in secret - pretend
we are strangers who never
met or kissed or fell in love.
Blackjack Haiku #2
I was born on a Wednesday.
That’s why I’m known as Kwaku
in my village in Ghana.
Blackjack Haiku #3
memories are ghosts that haunt,
dogs that hunt in ancient dreams -
return with a carcassed thing.
#BlackjackHaiku for Greensboro, NC
Tornadoes blew off rooftops
in Greensboro tonight. I hope
everybody is safe and sound.
Emancipation Day Blues
It’s Emancipation Day
in D.C. They freed the slaves
by purchasing their freedom.
They paid cash to the owners
and transferred deed and title
to the state, which was, which ain’t.
Successful experiment
in DC. Replication
later never intended.
NaPoWriMo #22
Ran completely out of gas
on the promised Nat Turner
hero sonnet crown project.
Dude just stopped talking to me.
Went total silent after
so much partying chit chat.
Spirits be like that sometime.
On and off like a light switch.
Digital, not analog.
Then my pen ran out of ink.
Talking ‘bout catastrophe.
Hope he comes back soon or late.
Don’t care that much about theme
and unity anymore.
Just want to complete it.
Warning label (Blackjack Haiku)
If you arrive here with hate
you will leave with peace of mind
even though there are bullets
in your pistol still waiting
to be released. You’ll forget
why you even brought that gun.
The poems I read will disarm.
You’ll be slowly hypnotized
by an ancient melody
that you never saw coming
your way. So be warned. If hate
is in your heart, it won’t last.
Haiku 2018
1.
Haiku and shot forms -
Learning to relax
the syllable count can be
exhilarating.
2.
People are going
nuts, bolts, screws about the news –
Truth – a healing balm.
3.
Mutually assured
destruction – the worst outcome –
none survives the blast.
4.
Information rules!
Librarians understand.
Who’s in charge of truth?
5.
London handmaiden
flies under all the radar.
Fingers sticky still.
6.
Be your own librarian.
Learn the information rules.
You don’t need their intermediation,
Their tricks, their trinkets.
Just wake up tomorrow morning
And say “Bye, bye, Pharaoh.”
Some Sunday Haiku (9/2/2018)
It wouldn’t be Sunday
without a bit of Haiku
to close the weekend.
Burial at sea
impresses me as the way
to go out in class –
Not on some hilltop
reminding folks of your wealth –
the power of place.
ModPo starts next week.
Reading Emily early –
closing late with Walt.
Just before the end
let me say a prayer for you,
for me, all of us.
We have all we need.
A thousand birds have fallen –
a song sustains us.
#WednesdayWisdom (9/5/18)
So much is inside out –
Like a reversible raincoat.
People are not what they seem.
Break a few rules if you must.
Drink yesterday's coffee,
Just heat it up –
Better than to throw it away.
#SundayHaiku (9/9/18)
I almost forgot -
enveloped by stormy days:
it's Haiku Sunday!
ModPo has begun!
Emails of introduction
deluge my inbox.
Emily and Walt -
their poems lift our thoughts, strengthen
our resolve to write –
- both bookends that close
their prior age and open
all of our tomorrows.
Saturday Haiku (new) (9/15/2018)
people traumatized –
big storms brew just off the shore –
keep the faith through all.
why is that trending?
Twitter’s fake algorithms –
slant truth is fake news.
gangs destabilize
while innocent souls are lost –
“Build that wall!” they shout.
Where are solutions?
Isolate the cause, distill
flaws. Tell all the truth.
gradually we
awaken from deep slumber –
anesthetized peace.
Bonus Twitter tweet:
The world has gone mad.
Omarosa has tapes –
Bob Woodward has tapes –
Feinstein – whose 20-year driver
was a Chinese Spy –
has a secret letter
about high school sex.
Gawd! These people are crazy!
Sunday mourning coffee
I overfilled
my french press
this morning
the white foam
bubbled up to the top
then faded back
into blackness
tomorrow morning
the workers come
to service
the air conditioning
wife says no coffee
because it makes
the place stink
Here it is at soundcloud:
https://soundcloud.com/raymmax/morning-coffee-modpo-week-2
Unfortunately I spent
most of the 80's at sea.
Prime years of my life.
Protecting and defending.
But I wrote some interesting poetry.
I missed a lot of music,
art, culture. Somebody always
has to pay. Freedom’s never free.
Thursday Blue 9.20.2018
I was feeling a little Thursday blue
at work. Then I googled Aretha
on YouTube and the first song
that came up chased all my blues away.
#FridayHaiku (9.21.2018)
someday’s ink spills out
on paper - letters emerge -
take poetry form -
reading coffee sludge
or tea leaves at the bottom
of my Polish cup
museum talk today -
revealing to know how stuff
survives to explain
will it rain today?
I'd like to be - weatherman -
forecast the future
Five suffices - three
unsettles, unbalances -
one - one love - one hope
#SundayHaiku (9.23.2018) Autumn Equinox
the day and the night
are equal – or so they think –
in their projections –
tempest thoughts create
pleasant day-reasons, causes
to explain events –
social media
can provide too big a stage
for small minds’ drama –
game changer coming –
are you ready? Be prepared!
A new dawn’s rising.
#BlackjackHaiku (9.24.2018)
Drinking green tea this morning,
shipmates. Second infusion.
Some days, coffee makes me hoarse.
#FridayHaiku (9.28/2018)
I'm shaking my head.
Coffee is so doggone good.
Thank you, Almighty!
The hearings are done.
I learned a lot about truth -
a lot about hate.
There were heroes there.
But there were some scoundrels, too.
God wins in the end.
No pearls to clutch here.
My village has real problems.
Seeds of strife were sown.
Radio, alone,
is the only news I choose -
Video plays tricks.
Swagger is empty.
Truth, reconciliation
is the greatest need.
Late entry:
Truth lies buried, deep
in the storm. A green seedling
gently sheds its husk.
SundayHaiku (9.30.2018)
Might not do Haiku
this Sunday - Monday morning
meeting to prepare
But Bible study –
with coffee - is a different
thing altogether.
February 2019 Haiku Month -
NaHaiWriMo 2019
Day 1 (catch-up) – #NaHaiWriMo
Freedom of speech is dead
here in the land of the free.
Poetry hates the haiku makers.
Day 2 (catch-up) – #NaHaiWriMo
digital blackface
is all the rave, the fashion –
queue drops blast the waves.
Day 3 (catch up) – #NaHaiWriMo
One never awakens
from a dream inside a dream –
a hologram of sleep.
Day 4 #NaHaiWriMo
got some catching up to do –
4 days late, but thoughts in spades
to share. Nothing late is lost.
Day 5 #NaHaiWriMo
State of the Union:
who will show their true colors?
Tulsi’s speech gave me goosebumps.
Day 6 #NaHaiWriMo
Today’s prompt is Pig’s feet.
But my Haiku for today
is about the SOTU Address.
The last few moments
were spellbinding, hypnotic –
and maybe I was exhausted.
Day 7 #NaHaiWriMo
Living this life with spice –
cinnamon, ginger, cardamon,
nutmeg for a rainy day.
Day 8 – #NaHaiWriMo
My lovely says no roses
for valentines – but chocolate
with hazelnuts will do.
Day 9 – #NaHaiWriLo
I need a time out from
Bezos and Fairfax and blackface.
What planet is this, again?
Day 10 – #NaHaiWriMo
Live action Oscar shorts
(animateds were much better)
made my wife so angry –
Day 11 – #NaHaiWriMo
the spring clogs up with dead leaves,
pure water bubbles elsewhere –
our failure is our loss alone.
Day 12 – #NaHaiWriMo
You have three articles
left this month. Pay the piper!
Or we cut your ass off.
Day 13 – #NaHaiWriMo
Necessary words
sprang forth from a loathsome soul –
eternity in a verse.
Day 13 (bonus) – #NaHaiWriMo
“Best Commercial” should be
a new Emmy or Oscar
prize category.
Day 14 – #NaHaiWriMo
Be my valentine –
Please be. I’ll write you a poem
that’ll be for you alone.
Day 15 – #NaHaiWriMo
she told me she was tired
of singing the same old sad songs –
what’s the price of stardom?
Day 16 – NaHaiWriMo
when memories flood the mind,
how does one separate
the madness from the noise?
Day 16 (bonus) – 2 many lines for Haiku
ever feel like running
away from it all? That’s what
I’m feeling tonight.
No special reason –
just get in the car
and head out 66 to 81
to the Great Smokies –
mountains that I love.
If I leave right now,
I could catch the end
of Saturday farmer’s market
in downtown Silva.
If I drove all night.
Wanna ride with me?
Day 17 #NaHaiWriMo
too many devices –
too many ways to connect –
too few streams of thought.
Day 18 #NaHaiWriMo
February night –
trees, the splinters that piece the sky –
time slows and passes by.
Day 19 #NaHaiWriMo
New job onboarding day.
Tomorrow snow and sleet blanket.
Off to a great start.
Day 20 #NaHaiWriMo
The snow came as predicted.
It’s physics: tiny snowflakes
pile up, grow deep on the streets.
Day 21 #NaHaiWriMo
There was a time, long ago,
when I gave up on the world
to live a monastic life –
I didn’t know what I’d miss,
going from an all boys school
to the crew of a submarine –
Except for a park bench kiss
on a moon-lit night. I learned
Marley’s truth: no woman, no cry.
Day 22 #NaHaiWriMo
3.5 mile walk home from work –
Lean back and stride – feeling it
between my shoulder blades.
The gunney sargent said:
Walk like you own this muthaphucka –
what you got to lose?
I pass Farragut Square
and straighten up my posture:
“Damn the torpedoes
“Full speed ahead!”
“10 more days and we’ll be through!
Sound off!”
Day 23 #NaHaiWriMo
wife is entertaining tonight –
better be on my best behavior –
maybe read them some Haiku.
Day 24 #NaHaiWriMo
The road to the Mecca
is steep and sharp turns abound –
my legs are stronger than my heart.
The final obstacle
before arriving is the chapel –
nothing else bars entrance.
The rings around Saturn
look scary from a distance –
but up close it’s only dust.
Day 25 #NaHaiWriMo (Oscar Night Special)
Live from the Oscars –
the golden calf is hiding
in every secret place.
Human flesh is auctioned,
but it’s crypto currency
paying the final bill.
Idols in the Temple
attract all our attention –
saints to their devotion.
Day 26
flonase, nyquil, pills
to stop the coughing, sneezing –
from dusty manuscripts.
Day 27
We once were titans.
Today we seek protection
from imagined shadows.
Is it ever enough?
How far shall we disrespect
and dishonor our own selves?
You think it’s not true?
Imagine what foreigners
think of our bickerings.
Day 28 – Cold weather, end of February, weary blues Haiku
too cold to walk home –
stopped for a snack at Sammy’s.
Old men smoking Newports.
Talking ’bout respect.
Cain’t get none on 7th Street
from these new younguns.
Soon be an elder,
with a cane, maybe a pipe,
unlit, of course, for show.
July 7, 2019
I loved my Brompton
but the tires were too thin
for curved mountain roads –
And so I sold it –
helmet and all, pump and lights,
to a city girl.
July 20 - Day #1
1st day of poetry fest
Nothing abstractly interesting
Or even mildly pretentious
To report.
Beginnings can be inauspicious
And especially non-dramatic
Let the partying begin.
Erase and recycle if you wish.
Greensboro born and bred.
July 20 - Day #2
Let’s distill a sonnet
To it haiku essence -
On the fly, first draft
& in pencil. Erase and reuse
If you wish.
August 7, 2019 - Day #19
It’s almost too late
For poetry this morning -
Breakfast will suffice.
Subways run on time -
I arrive early and wait
Or call an Uber.
NAPoWriMo 2020 #10
I can do haiku.
But hay (na) ku might not be
my choice cup of tea.
These days corona
rules the schedule of our lives –
lockdown – stay at home.
Let’s flatten the curve,
keep corona from spreading –
keep the hounds at bay.
Record this crisis!
Tell stories of daily life.
Archive each event.
The really cool thing
is that haiku fits so well
And lives on Twitter.
August Postcard Poetry Haiku
#1
Which is the writer
And which the haiku reader
As we rock this road?
#2
The fishes all die -
Not when the water freezes,
But when it is pure.
#3
Which road calls to us?
Which song is worth our singing?
Which obstacle the path?
#4
I never learned kizomba
But there’s semba in my soul
And I know all the words and chants
#5
The fishing village
Curls slowly along the shore
Anchored by the mountains
#6
Victimhood and guilt:
Not my cup of tea. Won’t be reading
White Fragility.
#7
A letter from my uncle arrived
With photographs from events
That reminded him of me.
#8
Kaleidoscopic
is the word I use to describe
times when ideas flood the mind;
#9
A reminder that
the gods are still here with us,
feeding us images and thoughts
#10
One of the pitfalls
Of frequent moves: you lose stuff
Between cracks in time.
#11
Thirty-three lines of haiku
streaming on postcard media –
ran out of gas just as
the driver was needing a nap –
#12
An old job ended –
tears of sadness and joy.
A new job started
without a vacation gap.
#13
The pandemic is winding down
In some places
And picking up steam
In others.
#14
Uneven steps
progress down the path
to an uncommon destination.
#15
I hope my obit
Expresses my joy for life -
that overcame disappointments.
-
A dream within a dream
an irregular riff of my heartbeat
awakened me last night –
interrupting a pleasant dream.
I am alive! And I can overcome
the dull monotony of deathlike sleep
if and when I choose.
Maybe it was the coffee I drank
too late in the afternoon
that stirred me from sweet sleep.
The dream? I was in a field
of overgrown wildflowers –
hunting for sassafras roots
my father planted in his youth –
The old men used
to say no caffeine
after lunch. I never thought
it would apply to me.
Shadorma #1
the lockdown
has folks real grumpy.
Murder rate
is sky high
in the city and nearby
villages and towns.
Shadorma #2
the mayor –
obsessed with statehood –
dropped the ball
on crime stats.
Criminals get a free pass –
the streets are not safe.
Shadorma #3
the crisis
on the south border
is Biden’s –
no matter
what gets televised tonight
on 6 o’clock news.
Shadorma #4
do not fear
their threat to cancel,
to deny
your freedom
of expression. This is still
the land of the free.
Haiku for Emily
She often mentions bumble bees
And many purple things –
She’s clearly been in love
A time or two.
She speaks of business deals
And such. You’d think
She has an MBA at least.
She must live near
A shipping port. She knows
That trade as well.
She also loves geometry!
And all her threads
On immortality suggest
she has a strategy
for her escape at last.
New Haiku on a Thursday night
Before the banana republic,
We had a right to swift trial –
A jury of our peers.
Freedom was always
A false promise, an illusion.
Now none can save us.
If you read enough haiku
You begin to write like one –
You begin to be one.
As a consolation
I’m learning to play guitar –
My last breath, a song.
If I had my guitar
I’d write a song right now
With that Haiku.
I hate to end a line
In haiku with a broken verb
Or a preposition.
Not much in the news.
China having horrible
Floods – people dying.
I’m afraid if I
only write haiku, the end
will be near
My mother smoked Salems –
Didn’t help her high blood pressure.
I get a lot more
information on Telegram.
But on Twitter I remain .
Twitter is the information battlefield.
Until it isn’t. We’ll be much smarter
in the second shutdown. We learn
from mistakes and errors.
Midnight Haiku
DC bans menthols –
No more Newports, no more Kools.
Really? All smoke, no fire.
More Haiku - playlist
low information,
high rate of data transfer –
matrix owns your mind.
putting together
a playlist for the next shutdown
that’s sure to come.
if i fell –
never gonna let you go –
all this love.
going in circles –
hurry up this way again –
you are my starship.
gentle on my mind.
If you don’t know me by now –
don’t ask my neighbors.
need a break from news –
views, clues, blues – abuse, confuse;
turn the TV off.
new guitar arrived.
wife say send it back – no way.
baby please don’t go.
2022 Peace postcard poems
1
I'm late to the letterbox
with my 1st batch of peace-
themed poems. 28 stanzas
may be a worthy goal
as we seek to spread peace about.
2
"Peace" said the part time professor
"is not just the absence of war
but the absence of the fear
of war, the threat of war.
We have a long way to go.
3
Implicit in the idea of peace
is the freedom to choose said peace.
You can't force it on me
because you say it's good for me, for us.
Peace is like the jab in that respect.
4
The professor used to say
"Peace ain't gon' just come this way -
We have to work for peace."
But the work is not easy
and the pay is minimum wage.
5
Peace is more than just hype -
more than just a social media group -
more than even a month of poems.
Peace is genuine, a superior good,
a quality that grows when shared.
6
But back to freedom.
A peace imposed by tyrants is slavery.
And acquiescence to that imposed peace
is death. Death, the deepest sleep,
we can agree, is the purest peace.
7
Happy birthday Bob Marley!
You sang songs of peace and justice,
of redemption and freedom.
8
Universal, perpetual peace
may be more than we can accomplish.
But a peaceful word of thought
exchanged among friends goes far.
9
Another batch late.
Relevant lines from Dante suffices:
"In His will is our peace" and
"Everywhere in Paradise is Heaven."
10
We may pray for peace
with our lips - but we ardently
pay taxes for war.
11
We give lip service
to peace, but maintain the account
for war in the layaway.
12
He promised us a dark winter -
but the sweet scent of peace
already fills our nostrils.
13
Peace is less an objective
and more a condition,
less a goal, more a direction vector,
Less an end state.
14
Peace is a slippery thing -
Elusive in the best situation.
One struggles to define its terms,
One struggles to contain it.
15
We seek cessation of hostilities
But that is only the first stage
Of peace. The ashes must cool,
The houses and buildings rebuilt,
And therapy for the injured.
16
Peace does not un-traumatize
The children, or the fighters
For that matter. All are damaged
From the moment peace recedes.
17
My peace poems are late
And I most humbly apologize -
The rumors then scenes of war
On the TV left me in a serious funk.
18
I get one newspaper per week -
On Thursdays. Letting them pile up
Until the new conflict ceases. Then
I’ll read them all in one day
To compress time’s passage.
19
How can I write poetry about peace
when the idolatry of distant war
surrounds me and invades my every though?
20
It is no consolation that the bombs
explode a world away, that my neighbors
are not harmed.
21
I know the sound of missiles
piercing the ground, the acrid smell of death
it brings - it's not abstract for me.
22
The gods of war
will never make me
bow down to them.
23
the big bang of war
makes us fear that peace is far -
removed from our dreams.
24
yet peace is gaining critical mass each
moment that passes: its energy is spreading
diametrically, at an accelerating rate,
25
Reasons for war and conflict
are shrinking, like fear and greed,
and the senseless need to dominate
others. Let peace expand and grow.
26
The words we write, the lines,
the notes, the rhymes
are always seeking their destination:
a landing place, a comfort zone,
a peace inside a peace.
27
Sometimes they find their place,
and sprout like seeds,
but sometimes they fall in sandy soil,
on stones, or disappear
into a hollow pit of nothingness.
28
But even then, like seeds, our words
await their chosen moment,
their time most opportune
to germinate and take root.
Everything in its own time,
the old folks used to say.
29
through ordered words
that arise from within
we push back the outer margins
of chaos, of disorder,
and preserve a world –
a separate world we choose –
that reflects our inner peace
Weekend sonnet/haiku (pts 1-3)
Pt. 1
People wear masks
To hide or to accentuate
Their true identity.
It’s all Greek drama –
A sad mask projects a frown,
A happy mask smiles.
That’s all fine if you
Live and breathe on a stage where
Performing is your thing.
But here in the real world,
We unmask and we see things
As they really are
Let’s not be any
More explicit than that
Pt 2
Some of the masks we wear
Depict our becoming into
A different identity.
Some, like race-face, black
Or white, double down on what
We really hope to be –
Others highlight moods swings,
Whether manic or in the dumps,
As we slowly navigate –
Still others genderize –
With wigs and hormone shots
And extra body part
Living the staged version
Helps hides a broken life.
Pt. 3
I tried to join a group
But folks ignore my postings–
Must be my attitude –
Or my latitude –
We’re sailing – you may not like
The cut of my jib –
And that’s OK too.
My wife hates the smell of brewed
Cacao in coffee
For example. Each
to his own – do your own thing –
Nobody’s keeping score,
Until the endgame –
When all will be revealed.
Social media sonnet haiku
Yes, my friend, Twitter
is not a real place. And yet,
it so seems to be.
Facebook’s not a book –
we go there for our news fix
anyway. We are so lost.
Social media
in toto – such a mindfuck –
alternate reality.
Our lives are a mess –
stuck at home for the lockdown.
Staring at the screen.
There is reprieve, a balm –
Take a walk along the river.
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Keep 'em coming, Ray!