January 2018

kitchen raid
the wolf moon lights up
my stealth

on the page
a raindrop
breaks silence

breath stop —
#haikumonk goes on

with the pine
a blank page practices

mute autumn —
my daughter takes up home
two inches behind the eyes

in memoriam Johnny Baranski  

Folsom prison blues— 
every man guilty of some 
kind of innocence                            

a worm twists and turns  
at the heart of a rose                      

see? with the beads  
of glass I can show you  
your rainbow                                  

revenants of yesteryear  
in her sleight of hand                       

now the mirror's empty  
but for the stupid smile 
of moonlight                                    

a bolt-gun rings in the stockyard  
poppies Hafiz, oh the poppies...      

day after day   
the quiet American   
soldiers on                                        

a chalk window on the wall   
there's your escape                           

the goldfish stares through me   
two blue-bottle flies  
gather dust in the corner                  

a breath makes to softly leave  
through a split infinitive                     

in one movement   

mother's approval proves  
the relationship's final blow              

dead sea scroll  
a caterpillar  
of its end                                           

OMG! there's a dog  
trying to get into her ear!                  

and yet no one pays any mind 
as the ground erodes  

unheard of 'til now  
footfall on water                                

first snowdrops  
a certain whiteness in   
A Love Supreme                               

refracted through my third eye 
the moon scents whisper                  

images strewn 
across the underbelly  
of experience                                   

quietly dusk leaves  
the fields wide open                           

Clayton Beach, Hansha Teki, and Johannes S. H. Bjerg 

a sparrow alights  
on the wind blown wire  
natural harmonics  

another day teased out  
to a single note  

beluga clouds  
the icy moon sets  
into the sea   

a hermit crab scuttles  
its crumbling shell   

discarded plastic  
in the postmortem   
of a forgotten evening  

an old salt  
spins a yarn or two  
into open wounds  

and what of the plowshares?  
we'll learn to love 'the bomb'   

sickle moon  
a spy dome deflates  
at Waihopai  

a thousand times reflected 
in the eyes of a fly  

in alpine snow  
only the radar ping  
of a blackbird  

Clayton Beach / Hansha Teki

far away
handfuls of dust 
whisper of origins
savannah dusk —
baobab trees stride time
with up-raised arms
the long shadow
of Mitochondrial Eve
coils in my dreams
sunset shimmer . . .
baobab trees 
are paper dolls
distant thunder —
the unfolding crescendo
of our waiting
fecund night —
a paleolithic venus
by ink-blot
in nightmares
dank watering holes
of my past
my heart beats
to an ancient drum —
djembe talk
after vultures . . .
the unshadowed earth
lies sun-scorched
the truth of words
lies buried in
my darkest Africa