February 2015

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

time returns a novel way


 

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