Haiku-A-Day

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

someone has pig flu?

zohmygodwe’reallgonna-

-dierunandhide!!!

blitz-fast chords

and screams of anarchy

refresh my weary spirit

grey, asphalt river

rambles onward — up ahead:

haze shrouded mountains

chipped green metal case

in the bottom of the

toolbox… waiting…

the smell of old steel

brings precious memories of

my father’s workshop

the grey sky

presses down with unfulfilled

expectations

under fluorescent glow:

white walls and white boxes

sanitize the mind

darting blossom to

blossom, the green streak pauses

to contemplate me

encircled by

photographic masterpieces…

feeling small

walking to the car,
crimson-leaf-crunch muted by
the cold autumn rain

you stand. fake smile.

fix your hair. wait. wait.

Flash.  breath.  moving on.

big black headphones
pipe joy into your brain–
soundlessly, you dance and sing

at the desk, gaze
locked on the screen — wrapped-up
against the cold

Green Day blaring in

my ears — a grey salt fog rolls in

over the sea bluffs.

white squares and black text
swim in front of glazed eyes…
remember to breath…

writing at my desk,

I glance up:  orange and black

wings on a blue sky

chill autumn breeze
whips through the trees;
chimes in the distance