Tag Archives: haiku

Wind Intervals

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Wind Intervals

 

In a space under trees I can hear the wind that is not here
like a can kicked across the street by a boy still coming

or as if the act of the boy shaping his mouth to shout
made a sound before the sound of the shout

What is the word that I hear before the trees
above me shake and give the wind a momentary word

What is the sound of a loosening of leaves
like forgetting hands just before they drop

to our sides? The interval of apprehension.
The time we are alive. The boy stepping up the curb.

Full Moon Social Anthology 1 [#fullmoonsocial2014]

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Seriously nearly-full moon not taking any nonsense--join the FullMoonSocial2014 on Wednesday.

The idea was simple–let’s all gaze at the moon together, wherever we are, and share our words and images. Let’s have a full moon social event that the Ancients would understand and appreciate.

On October 8, 2014 WordPress and Twitter sparkled with poems, prose fragments, and photos from an assortment of creative folk using the hashtag #fullmoonsocial2014. It was a fun night to moon-gaze — and to refresh our searches on that tag to see what new poem or photo had popped up.

As much as I could, and with the permission of the authors, I have gathered this work into a humble anthology, available in PDF format. While designed like a traditional book, and without the website-inspired underlining, the websites or Twitter handles of each contributors are live links which will take you directly to their sites to find out more about the author and her/his work. The Contents pages are likewise linked to the book as well.

Please feel free to download it here, as a keepsake and a thank-you from me for joining in, to write, contribute, and to read. Any typos or other issues are mine, and please do not hesitate in letting me know if some adjustment needs to be made.

Likewise, if you’re an author or artist or photographer who contributed to the Full Moon Social but you don’t see your work here, let me know and I’ll add it in.

And if anyone’s interested in doing it again…

The Sound

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The Sound

 

Today the sound of rain is over my head, in the leaves.
For a month it will get more and more silent

As the canopy thins, even as each drop more directly
hits its mark it will be more and more like a whisper

of something going away, until the level of leaf is ground
and then in the first cold rain a new sound like a cough

rattling to life instead of death, louder and colder will
arise from the earth, for a few times anyway reminding

us that nothing not even death stops talking until the
first snowflake tells it utterly and quietly to shut up.

Psalm

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Psalm

 

So where is the past? Is it the terrain
in periphery, never the destination

but whose contours shape the weather?
Is it the icy light the moon reflects

on the tracks of things before me?
Wonderful deeds have we done, and

fearful things. They lay across the path
of parting like roots or over-hang

my steps with shade and snakes.
I do not wish to look

back. I only need to know
from which direction will come

the monster-god it has nurtured
to replace me so that I may stand

before him in the breach to turn away
his wrath, convince this pale reflection

that it could be a kinder god

Lines Written After Encountering a Cat in My House, #1

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Lines Written After Encountering a Cat in My House, #1

 

The darkness of a cat sliding past me on its way
up the stairs as I descend can seem symbolic

of a missed opportunity or something passing by
I should have paid more attention to on my way

to put out the trash but in reality I still got the trash
put out and a cat passing by in the dark on the stairs

is never an opportunity even in this ankle deep silence

Early Morning Sky

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Early Morning Sky

 

Underlit clouds reach across the new day’s ceiling
like a giant hand trying to trap something.

Or save someone. But I’m hidden beneath these trees
and houses. It goes on, drifts beyond, the wrong way.

Reflections, Early October Rain

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Reflections, Early October Rain

 

In the rain on the street’s surface
each house shimmers its inner life

when my eyes water with memory
the homes break into ten thousand drops

At the Overlook on Afton Mountain, Last Morning of September

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cloud sea

At the Overlook on Afton Mountain, Last Morning of September

Cloud Ocean lays over the valley as an unnamed sea
did before names, only the southern peaks

visible like islands in the distance. Clouds crash
into a coast of trees and in the slow motion violence of

white spray rising I sway unsteadily
on top of 400 million years of unmoving rock

cloud sea spray noir

 

 

Outside My Window, Last Night of September

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Outside My Window, Last Night of September

 

So quiet except for fall crickets hanging on
In the rectangle of black behind the screen

I hear the soft pattering of rain and lean over the sill
and see two moths, brown like faded leaves

beating forgotten wings against a night full of stars

Sunday Service, Small Town in Virginia, Late September, on the Occurrence of Emptiness

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Sunday Service, Small Town in Virginia, Late September, on the Occurrence of Emptiness

No traffic. A leaf clatters like a steed with an urgent message
then gives in to a burlesque swirl and stills itself out

of momentum. A yellow moth staggers on uneven air across the empty street.
I can walk down the middle of the road past lonely double-parked cars.

Not a soul is about. The churches are filled up with their giant doors shut
like a present I will not unwrap. The entire town is my empty prayer.

I can appreciate every curb’s lift, every curve of crumbling brick
arch on old buildings, window-shop for emptiness and find it

everywhere. Even the crow’s shadow barely skims the earth.
And a thousand yellow leaves do the moth better than the moth did.