Haiku-A-Day

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

squinting at tiny

solder points, metallic fumes

sting my nostrils

little brown thrush sits

amongst the red paper flowers,

unbothered by thorns

the temperature
drops and the breeze picks up,
smelling of rain

the air is quiet,
just a few small cheeps in the trees –
under an iron sky

nodding off

at my desk –

empty house

cold west wind — above,

brown and black mottled sky and

a handful of stray stars

waiting for my

coffee, staring blankly at the

scarred wood tabletop

swirls of white and tan

foam suspended atop blessed

bean nirvana

stepping out of the

front door — welcoming crispness

and violet clouds

you lie in bed

novel in hand, sleepy

face next to mine

cold, deep fog

clings to the lampposts –

damp silence

glaring sun –
in the distance,
a fog horn lows

five in the morning,

seven at night — the rasp of

bristles on concrete

ghoulish faces

flicker on porchsteps: helping the

spirits find their way

hollowed, carved and hallowed:

grinning orange totems with

little candle souls

wrapped in blankets, I

struggle to find a reason

to get out of bed

I close my eyes

and breath — beneath the blackness

a million colors

sitting at the
sunlight drenched window, the breeze
carries hints of salt

perched atop light poles

great white cameras stare with

omnipresent eyes

I sit and wait for

the car to wake up –  a low

grumbling machine yawn

I gaze upward;

dozens of con trails etch the

cerulean sky