clear pacific night:
crescent moon and evening star
over oil rigs’ glow
Magpie preens on the
fencepost; golden sunlight on
distant snow-capped peaks
White pillows of cloud
roll across the mountain tops–
late afternoon glow
hard tension and
awkward, pregnant silences–
shadowed moon tonight
crows cawing on the
roof as the temperature rises and
dry leaves skitter
eyes closed, breathing deep
in… out… in… out…. allow the
thunder to pass
like dry leaves
blown underfoot,
new words swirl on the
cool autumn breezes
said the wrong thing –
tension over stupid shit
spoils a good day
seated, thoughts flow around
the mental block: a gentle
nudge, and the world clears
grey mist obscures the
mountain tops — tiny rain drops
spatter the windshield
wading through nonsense
ads, confidence games, and dross
– commentary wasteland
Right, so… as is so often the case, the project seemed to trail off a bit toward the end. Definitely didn’t reach the number of poems I had hoped for. Ah, well… That said, I’m still writing and creating, just doing some different stuff. I hope some time to pick it back up. It was much fun, but perhaps I need to set even more manageable goals like a haiku a day for 1 month or 3 months. We shall see. For now, happy holidays!
tromping up the bluffs,
a tell-tale frond, flash of steel:
hunting wild fennel
sitting in climate
controlled courtyard under twelve-story
skylight, watching koi
a great orange globe
surmounts the hills, threatening
to swallow the night
wandering past the
t-shirts — huh, they still carry
guns at K-mart?…
rows of spinach,
carrots and beets go back into boxes –
smells like fresh rain
“you taste a little
like technology,” she says
with a quizzical look
awake before sunrise
to birds chirping and a brisk breeze;
hints of spring
thinking of a
birthday haiku, love needs more
than three lines
three ravens in
the pine tree; catching up
on the latest news
minute muscle
contractions adjust each feather;
jealousy and awe
acrid hint of
charring carbon wakes me,
no sirens… back to sleep
paper plates, plastic
forks, orange chicken; chatting under
neon panda gaze
my eyes squint, trying
to decipher the white glow –
time to walk away
that buildup of cha(n/r)ge
as the sky goes dark: i love
just before it rains
great black-and-grey
silhouettes cruise the coastal skies –
rain in the mountains
new zoom lens
adds new meaning to
“the male gaze”
bookshelves sag under
the weight of millions of words –
a few more can’t hurt.
browsing through
photos of naked people,
looking for good poses
dusk: haloed
moon peeks through
cypress boughs
moonlight catches an
ivory curve; should be asleep
but can’t help gazing
white marble l.a.
sun and scene — little kids in
paper masks run by
tree branches suddenly
thrash about as sideways rain
pummels the windows
blazing white — a swift
drum strike reverberates
through chest and spirit
the windows rattle
buffeted by water and wind:
monsoon morning
grey clouds break;
yellow warmth pushes its way
into afternoon
rainwater tumbles
down the spouts, rushing like
a waterfall
rain sounds fill the
silence, pinging like lentils
in a metal bowl
cold, wet wind, dark sky:
forgetting i’m in southern
california
back and forth across
the stone, gently coaxing the
blade spirit to shine
black rustling: old man
raccoon rummages for scraps
behind the dumpster.
drifting to sleep –
the soothing staccato
of sudden rain
the world outside gets
indistinct — across the water,
the fog horn bellows
driving home from the
beach — a tiny hawk perched on
a no-parking sign
lying in bed, eyes
shut, daggers in my temples…
bargaining for sunset…
rumble of passing
cars soothes like irregular
crashing waves
cool winds shift inland,
bringing sweet hints of fennel
and eucalyptus
midnight, no wind; just
the tiny pops of bursting beech
fruit under orion
sunlight slips
between drawn drapes, briefly piercing
my afternoon gloom
i skirt the edge with
the plovers: poking in the sand,
looking for jujus
in pairs or alone,
the sun worshippers lie prostrate
on sandy towels
seated on the grass
above the sand, drawing
on my ankles
driving down the high-
way: to the right, two turkeys
by the railroad tracks
clear blue sky
above, and your head dozing
on my shoulder
through the mists, across
the water, the islands sit, a scribble
on the horizon
great white orb in the
bright blue sky, rising over terraced,
palm-topped hills
the breeze rustles
through the pine boughs bathed in
silver-blue moonlight
gazing up:
a maelstrom of grey flecks
on a white background
blanket-wrapped, we
sit side-by-side — snow builds up
on the window sill
a baby with
tissue paper: pure, unrefined
contentment
seated at the big
table, surrounded by laughter
and sugar cookies
the trees groan in the
wind, branches encapsulated
in frozen time
black ice underfoot –
treading gingerly
up the driveway
flying east to
Chicago — shortest day
of the year
electric candles
burn between wire/plastic branches,
welcoming the sun
I chuckle warmly
as someone’s dog frolics
in the white powder
snowflakes contine
to fall in time with recorded
piano flurries
a scraping snowplow
shatters the snow-damp
silence
wrapped up tight,
as the world outside
turns white and grey
hunched against the
cold, and old, red hawk eyes
the white for movement
an icy damp chill
steals through the cracks in the
sliding glass door
overstuffed recliner,
book in hand — cold radiates
from frosted windows
rain patters on the
rooftop — hard to keep my
eyes open
standing under a
streetlight, red leaves flare
beneath the black sky
i drift off
to the gentle sound of
your breath next to me
finger tapping and
pen scratching: two word weavers
creating worlds by hand
scent of chicken and
spices wafts from the kitchen –
smells like home
temperature drops ten
degrees — above, black cloud banks
crest the mountain tops
walking home, the air
is thick with smells of
respite, home, and beans
late afternoon:
a cold, yellow mist rises
from the sands
under the cloudless
blue sky — thundercrash
and a salty spray
the lone poet taps
haiku on his phone — nearby,
Storke Tower chimes eight
the pregnant full moon
casts silvery anti-shadows
on leaf-strewn pavement
with the first raindrop
the gathered throngs
scurry for cover
a full house:
everywhere toes to be stepped on
and shoulders to hug
Happy Turkey Day! I’m taking the day off to hang out with my family. More haiku to come tomorrow. 
gazing up, a great
white orb and halo dominate
the indigo sky
early morning and
the world smells richly of
wet leaves and coffee
lying awake,
parched throat, coyotes chattering
outside the window
just above the
horizon, the moon floats like a
yellow banana
staring through the
camera lens — drowning in
kaleidoscope eyes
days grow shorter as
crisp, new piles of red and brown
clutter the walkway
the stars glisten like
a million white pinpricks in
an obsidian sky
in the blackest night,
wind gusts in the quiet
of the crossroads
standing in line at
the grocery store — overhead,
The Doors’ “People Are Strange”
final adjustments
made — enjoying the satisfying
glow of completion
concentric twisting
bold and nut. Tight — just
a quarter turn more
riffling through a
box of sockets: talismans
of precision
