February 2015

bread and wine— 
nectarine flesh stained
with plum juice
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parched lawn—
I quicken to the scent
of fresh rain
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altar light . . . 
the fire the cold say
just isn't
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hen party
a maid cocks a snook
at the bride
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last light . . .
I cast aside words
to enter it
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Middle-earth
a migrant magpie
lost in space
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resting its case
a kangaroo court leaps
into recess
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wailing wind . . .
the birth-blood of night
drowns my voice
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dark energy
bird-like 
the gravity
her mind 
defies
 
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by moonlight
deep scanning still waters
of almost
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its is-ness
stained in metaphors
river-stone
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autumn dawn— 
behind my eyes light leaves
a yawning void 
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honeycomb— 
herein the fountain
of youth
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at odds with
the song of the earth
a lone cicada
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summer haiku— 
wrestling with the word
of angels
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aflame at dusk
a tui opens darkness
up to song
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moonrise
light filters through
a face palm
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night rain
sans stars sans moon
sans souciance
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shadow play— 
the moon, the tides
and I
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once more
on the outer
day moon
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in this bar too
ancient gods brood over
wine-dark seas
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before light
a breeze murmuring
soundless words
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massing clouds
my eyes strip the sky
of silence
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new moon
lighting what's left
of the night
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step by step
finding nowhere
to go
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heaven
without a stairway
heads within
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half moon
making light of
drone targets
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awake at dawn
tree bird and mountain
called by name
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haiku—
my field of vision
narrows
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alone at last
a spider navigates
a wider web
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big bang— 
the past that nags
at my heels
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earthbound voice
naming the one fall
that sticks
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rolling sky— 
a hedgehog nudges
past its past
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newlyweds
a glowering sky
and her brow
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ancient quill
secreting life 
in a notebook
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shifting light . . .
every nuance
of the rock
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migrant smile
another buddha
goes neon
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autumn dusk
the darkening rose
of her sneeze
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fallen star
the value of nickel
in loose change
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cloud wisps
a bird's flight
from the nest
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worker bees
neither here
nor there
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haiku
mangled into
English stew
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one - no two
stars unable to
count on
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down under
the prevailing wind
wins over
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time returns a novel way


 

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mushroom cloud—
the nucleus of reason
grows unclear
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the sound
my native tongue makes
reading haiku
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out of sight
a red dwarf hides
nearest
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late summer . . .
cicadas shuffle sound
nonchalantly
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ebb-tide moon
the ouroboros
trailing me
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