Haiku

haiku

yellow ginkgo leaves,
fluttering like paper fans
painted by sunlight

(11/8/2016)

You Fall Leaf

You Fall Leaf

The fall—its colors and smells—

and you, brown leaf, individuated

yet undistinguished,

fell from your parent tree to rest

on bleak concrete.

Among your ruddy fellows,

among plastic bags,

gray safety pins,

and orange spray-painted glyphs,

the crisp sunlight curls you and

autumn enters.

An academy of gray squirrels

bustle about you,

twitching,

collecting their compulsions.

The eternity of summer’s greens

end for you.

Drivers in vans ignore you.

(They carry no cash.)

Will a black cackling crow peck you

to collect a twig?

Will you dance

at night, with a dirty plastic spoon?

Will a child add you

to a science project?

You, impermanent, will crumble:

the dust from whence you grew

will reclaim you, in time,

while you become

a significant insignificant

in the sights and smells of fall.

(9/29/2016)

Minding the Melt (A Sonnet?)

Minding the Melt

Walking without a wrap, despite my recent cold,
the morning air stings inside my tender nose,
and trees patter down so much melting ice,
they must be wringing out the moss
that coats the crotch and purfle of every twig.
A gray squirrel with his tail fluffed wide
skids in fearless leaps from leaf-patched grass
and scales the nearest trunk.

Above the scene, the November-angled sun spotlights
his fast acrobatics and embosses the glassy
chilled surface of everything – curbs, shrubs, puddles, mud.
The trees don’t seem to care who might venture under
their sagging limbs. They distill a private
rain song from last night’s freeze.


(Nov. 14 & 15, 2014)

Haiku

After warm rains, a
brown marmorated stink bug
hangs on my bed stand.


(10/22/2014)

Apparently these are an invasive species accidentally brought to the U.S. from Asia a few years ago. They are considered pests because they damage ornamental and crop plants. We're seeing a lot of them in the area right now.

Equinox (poem)

Equinox


Soft, slender, pallid moon
untouched by cloying, custard clouds,
unmoved by graying steely sky,
unmatched for delicate features.

Acorns dropped on dusty earth
(to separate the brown and shade)
recall how fast the twilight fades
on a late September walk.

A dog breaks a stern note.
Ashen green and stony must,
the path is worn by summer tread,
by grass, by footprints, by twigs.

The measured hour has passed again.
Comes soon the starry dark
and brings the cooling, sweaty dusk:
no bird, no breeze, no rain.


(9/28/2014)

Haiku

Haiku

in the green, wet grass
silent blackbirds pick the ground
by blue hydrangeas


(10/26/2012)

Haiku

Haiku

brown plastic leaf bins
the life of the maple tree
makes work for the rake


(10/24/2012)

October haiku

Haiku


dreams of such meaning
gone. a terrible feeling
to have to wake up


the first rain of fall
blank white sky above the trees
wets the bird droppings


(10/12/2012)

Halku: Summer's Dust

Haiku


vacuuming heat vents
burn off all the summer's dust
smells of early fall


(10/9/2012)

Morning haiku

Morning haiku


dreams of coming day
foggy October morning
stretch, stretch, wake slowly


(10/9/2012)

More autumn haiku

Autumn Haiku


step over brown leaves
pull on the extra blanket
I can feel them fall


leaves have been changing
slipping into longer sleeves
now I feel the change


(10/2/12–10/4/12)

Trying to capture that "haiku moment," an instant impression of the here and now of experience and embodied perspective, is not as easy as 17 syllables. These are two haiku I wrote recently trying to express the same idea with, I feel, varying success.

Autumn haiku

Haiku

dew on the car top

brace against the morning chill

summer is over

(9/26/12)

November Morning

November Morning

I heard it last night,
water coursing down tree limbs,
rooftops, gutters, roadways, cars,
and trash bins. Did the
outside of things get a good washing?

The morning sky is a damp cotton cloth, where
light seeps over the tree branches outside my window,
along with steady wetness. The season
of washing the outsides of things
has started. The tiny drops rush into
prickly tree needles and brown places: the leaves,
the fences, mossy eaves. The cotton sky keeps
the world inside warmed and contemplating,
while making the outside of things cool, wet, soft,
reflective.


(11/17/2011)

Autumn Fridge Poetry

Autumn Fridge Poetry

Our journey to

spring was almost

so dream-like:

road in winter

above black-blue

stream trickle.

Yellowing flower

at harvest songs,

cloud is, but full.

Light-owl did make people say:

"Shell, hear!"

"Mushroom has roof!"

From woman:

wild sleep,

lunch, and eat.

Then, have let who (house)

commercial weed garden–

(mouth) between here; (stand)

I later cry.

Face she if

(fish) as

and look

dandelion breath

water- fall

know night,

how they want

early bark cicada, though

off him which–

shiver in life too,

happy thunder child

(moon).

Cat said:

"Snow there!"

Morning giver.

Come, man:

call it thought.

See his tears always smile.

Very an, an evening,

crab eye dog;

rust would freeze,

melt.

(9/17/2011)

Yes, I have a bunch of those word magnets on my fridge, and the above "poem" is what is there right now, word for word (I added the punctuation). I'm getting ready to pack the magnets up as I'm moving in about a week, but I thought it a fun "exercise" to type up what I "wrote" and share it here. I am so tempted to edit/revise, but I like how the meaning of what I came up with is loose word-play, like images in a dream perhaps.

Rondo for String Quartet

I composed this movement for string quartet this term. (You hear it as played by the Finale 2009 String Players.)