A Plague of Grackles

darkening sky
a plague of grackles scatters
then gathers again………………………………………………….Willie

against the white lawn
frost-blackened figs…………………………………………………..Bill

someone else playing
someone else’s piano…
au clair de la lune……………………………………………………Melissa

with my good hand
uncreasing the photograph………………………………………..Sandra

in a church fresco
the Devil falls separate
from all the others……………………………………………………Bill

too small to house worms
so many green apples………………………………………………….Bill

a raffish display
his hot pants and spandex
lead the parade…………………………………………………….Willie

launching a rubber band at me
she misses again…………………………………………………….Melissa

a tarte au chocolat,
a steaming pot of tea
and this poem……………………………………………………..Sandra

wild plum blossoms
in the garden gone to ruin…………………………………………….Willie

all legs and tails
three newborn lambs
tumble out of the sack…………………………………………………..Sandra

past the old landslip
he thinks how it must have been……………………………………..Bill

without another word
one more sake;
the mattress comes to me………………………………………………Joseph

try and explain kapok
to a kid who doesn’t care……………………………………………… Sandra

inked above his heart
the tattoo reveals
a floating world……………………………………………………..         Willie

narratives in sparks
climb up the chimney……………………………………………………..Sandra

tarnished moon the colour of this wooden floor…………………. …Bill

the last note of the hymn
an owl’s hunting cry………………………………………………………..Sandra

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Melissa Allen, Wisconsin, USA
Bill Dennis, Pennsylvania, USA
Joseph Mueller, Vermont, USA
Sandra Simpson, Tauranga, New Zealand
William Sorlien, Minnesota, USA

Composed at Issa’s Snail, October 14 to December 2, 2012

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A Hundred Gourds 2.2, March 2013

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(another bird)

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another bird dream probing the tenderness under a wing

Frogpond 36.1

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I was outside this morning, Easter morning, and the birds had all come back to life. The world was light and lively again instead of muffled and deaf in the way of winter. It felt the way it does when you wake up from a dream and the world that seemed so real and important when you were asleep is revealed as a flimsy stage-set world, created by your mind as a venue for its latest improbable fantasy. And now good morrow to our waking souls. 

(angle)

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first frost
between the moon and me
the angle of repose

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Haiku Bandit Society, January Moon Viewing Party

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Yeah, I know it’s been…approximately forever. There was a trip for work, and then a family vacation, and then a blizzard. Holy moly. Serious blizzard. With serious shoveling. Also, with the grad school and the work deadlines and… okay, I’m making excuses. But no one can be on all the time. I’m off right now. Off for a while. I’ll try to stop by a little more frequently for the rest of January though. I mean February. How do these months keep going by like this?

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123/8

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something

about
a barn

in a sense
we’re all
incarnate

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with

a second left
on the timer

January
misspells
itself.

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feathers

but not
enough

to reassure me
of your
innocence

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(purple haze)

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purple haze
he answers my fire
with smoke

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(work)

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what do you mean, you can’t read my handwriting? oh, fine then.

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black ice
the splinter tries
to work its way out
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the p-word

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1

poetry
if it weren’t
for the words

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2

the poetry
expedition
discovers
a spare sky
for unused stars

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3

an iceberg
engraved
with your parting speech
I’ve had it
with poetry

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4

poetry–
my casual attitude
toward shipwrecks

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5

a single
error
in the code
the end of
poetry

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6

poetry
mapping my mind
with buckshot

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7

a clinical tool
to determine
the extent
of my enlightenment
poetry

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8

poetry
the sounds
from the empty
torture
chamber

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9

poetry
after going
to all that trouble
I forget to destroy
the world

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123/7

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forty

days and nights
of rain

the stereoscope
leaks
dimensions

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tidepool

a dissected
starfish

the color
of my inner
eye

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appointed

to a cabinet
position

I bet everything
on a passing
cloud
.
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(check)

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I check my email again
four light years
from the nearest star

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Deneb my lost century

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starlight
the unidentified
weapon

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(finer)

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early spring sun I grate him finer and finer

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Frogpond 35.3

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a day in the life

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morning rain
the tapping
of my spoon
against the cereal bowl

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all the people
in the other cars
not me

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slate sky restoring a previous version

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noon haze
between office buildings
I repeat my password

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…leaving
the parking
………garage
……………the fog
…..through
..the automatic
…….gate

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bark, howl, whisper

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favourite*

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Haiku New Zealand asked me a while back to write up a list of my favorite haiku for their web site, which I agreed to do even though I thought it would be very hard. I was wrong. I won’t say any more about that because I say it over at Haiku New Zealand, so check it out.

So now I’m curious about what other people’s favorite haiku are. Do you have any? Do you think it would be hard to decide on some? What do you think of my choices? What are you having for lunch? Comment below.

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*One of my favorite things about this entire project was having my bland American spelling of “favorite” corrected to make it more New Zealand-y.

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desktop

123/6

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worshipping

graven
images

in a hall
of
mirrors

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crepuscular

your
invisibility

continues to
betray
you
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midwinter

snow
blindness

prevents me
from reading
my tombstone

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(intra)

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intravenously she must have asked for it

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born

broken
the shell

of her
only
egg

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wherever he’s inserted entropy
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(static)

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static; interference; trying; to; tell; you

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(Bones 1)

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This haiku was born out of sheer cussedness. I got irritated with everyone saying it wasn’t a good idea to put semicolons in haiku. I got irritated with everyone being down on semicolons in general. What does everyone know, anyway? I decided to write a bunch of haiku with semicolons in them and make everyone admit how great they were.

It turns out that the reason everyone says it’s a bad idea to put semicolons in haiku is that it really doesn’t usually work well at all to put semicolons in haiku. So my defiant experiment was largely a failure. Except for this one. I kind of like this one. And it has five semicolons in it. In case you hadn’t counted.

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(they say)

123/5

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solstice

light
therapy

challenges
me
to a duel

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offering

oranges
to a god

who doesn’t
believe
in citrus

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January

nothing
but ice

and a newly
sharpened
knife

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123/4

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still

inside
me

unified
field
theory

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housebound

every
door

just
another
opening

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rosebush

attenuated
women

discuss
their favorite
thorns

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