On Richard Gilbert's 61st birthday
baby boomers rattle their sixties
chanting 'amandla!'
baby boomers ski 
the downhill slope
sexagenarians shooting blanks
I become
its alibi
no turning back 
on itself
Is this the way the world ends?
Is this the way the world ends?
Is this the way the world ends?
Not with a bang but with a boomer.

a seer at odds
with vision
strains the edges
of itself
astride dreams
horizons gather
to the flame
under the weather
my eyes acclimatise
to their ends
climate change
I feel the earth
for a pulse
optic pressure—
vision swells up
in words
the range of vision
and words
all dark!
between stars
my light

deep dreaming a plum tree blooms

a breath of light
wind ripples
the waters
see the light
in the undergrowth
where we dream
the moon returns
my shadow
sun shower
the otherness
of us
Hiroshima - 70th Anniversary of the Bombing
in flames of being
here and now
is this light?
a little boy's weight
on the wide island
rain fills
the space that was
once yours
on ones so silent
the full impact
of a scientific yes
silence falls
like a mushroom
from the Enola Gay
rings out loud
from the sky
i am
become death
atom by atom
mumbling sky
the build up of heat
to come
a true man
without the sounds
of agony
Nagasaki - 70th Anniversary of the Bombing
(dedicated to Kaneko Tohta)
where east meets west
treading fire
a fat man
implodes in light
the long cape
ground zero
a white wormhole
opens at mass
after light
dark stains of martyrdom
on stone walls
seared through
faces and forms
at worship
a fumi-e
in deafening silence
stomped under
kakure kirishitan
keloid hands break open
the bread of words
in light
the death of martyrs
after rain
pavements come clean
on where they led
deep-sea diving
moon-struck lovers enter
each other's shadows
childhood home
I left my otherness
within you
in her fingers
the daisy becomes
her ditty
late snow
for a change the change
is seasonal
haiku at dusk
my calculated foray
into silence
thought fall
into my child
hood's was
a rainbow
all around
long silences
the circadian rhythm
of cicadas
Nagasaki bombing anniversary
fat man,
in your rain of terror
we rust
turning leaves—
that to which I cling
stripped bare
night goddess—
a fantail's fanbase
grows less
when writing haiku 
must I learn to eschew
rhyme too?
a ripple of words
after me
spring haiku—
images more and more
sound wordless
primal scream!
this too, infected 
with words
far beyond 
Hawking's horizon
a silence
moonless night—
the distance that remains
of climate change

somewhere in these words an absence lives on


the statement in the next line is false
the statement in the previous line is false
of evanescence
dead sea carrion
stilling stars
of a foreign will
the flea bite
holding on 
to its becoming
a chrysalis
ice melt—
my descendants snorkel 
down main street
in the mist
te ika a Māui
takes my bait
the wind tonight
becomes a symphony
of native chants
wretched poet
seeding fathomless depths
with shallow words
mass war grave—
a universe bleeds out
of dulled dreams
wisps of valley mist
yield to the sun and are lost
to sky, to emptiness—
tell me again mayfly
just what has been the point?
El Niño—
mother earth brings us
to our knees
spring's early shoots—
brother sun, sister rain
reawaken me
Mulla Nasrudin shifts
a candle
fingering humus
again the innocence
I thought I once had
mate tea—
my first love reborn
and her lips
oatstraw tea—
the taste of reaping
what was sown

winter's end mist moving the light

through the puddles my progress

petal shower—
the words I’ll never write 
sounding distant
planting alone
in this too 
I am spring rain
after frost
the vividness
of being
from the soil
I tug away at
red on white
the cross-cut
I abstain from
wind sailing
a hawk
catches my breath
making hay
while the sun still shines—
Wall Street zombies