sea bottom
he himself
the monster
The current issue of Haigaonline has a theme of found haiku and contains all sorts of interesting and innovative work. I’m a featured artist, with a series drawn from Orwell’s 1984 (there are four pieces besides the one above). This was one of the more interesting projects I worked on at the end of last year. Must remember to do more haiga. Sigh. So much poetry to write, so little time.
A Hundred Gourds 4.2, March 2015
I have a habit of planning out in my head the perfect version of everything — books, men, houses, planets. In the alternate reality where these Platonic ideals exist, writing poetry is nearly effortless, and all poems are songs.
daffodil patch
the odds against
our existence
A Hundred Gourds 4.2, March 2015
Questions to ask yourself in the spring:
How high is blue?
Why is why?
If never, then what?
Was it ever spread so thin?
With wings, is it necessary?
Are the complete works complete?
Twirling: Explain.
If you turned around, would it be there?
Are we all remembering the same planet?
begins a new
season
why not only yes
as a weathervane the crucifixion
in case he returns an embroidered jesus
converting betrayal to binary
We’re sixteen, the three of us, and we firmly believe that someone will make a movie about us someday, because we’re extraordinary. We don’t realize yet how extraordinary it is to be extraordinary, or, maybe, more optimistically, how ordinary it is to be extraordinary. We know, at least, that it’s only as a unit we’re extraordinary. When we hug each other it’s like when your shadow disappears into the other shadows. Are any of us real? Even long after we stop talking about this question, we keep thinking about it.
blue moon the first sight of your tattoo
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prose: here, now. haiku: Notes from the Gean 2.3
Once I went running at sunrise and a fox went running with me, keeping my exact easy pace, loping through the backyards of my neighborhood toward the sun as if in pursuit of that red. That was the wildest I’ve ever felt. I sometimes wonder if it was when the fox felt the tamest.
autumn night
the heat
from all my organs
prose: here, now
haiku: A Hundred Gourds 3.3
thanks to Shan Thomas.
as always, click to enlarge.
prose: here, now
haiku: Modern Haiku 45.2
where / we / overlap / darker / not / dark / enough
.
all night long
he slips
from my mind
.
.
The flowers are hardening, tightening up. You look at them expecting to see their familiar open faces, warm-hearted smiles, but they look back at you stiffly, politely; the entire encounter is awkward. You avert your eyes, hurry by. Just last week you had a friendly conversation, they seemed to approve of you. Now you’re their son’s girlfriend from the other side of the tracks, the salesman who’s about to lose the sale, the kid no one wants to choose for their team. Cold. They’re cold. You can see the future, your future, and they’re not in it.
This whole side of the street–rust. That brick wall–crumbled. All the newspapers–faded. (And no one reads them anymore.)
You feel a pain you’ve never felt before and you know it’s just the first of many.
Andante, adagio, largo, decelerando, decelerando.
first frost
but the key still fits
in the lock
.
~~~~~~~~
In this (extremely belated) edition of the Haikuverse:
Autumn wind:
Everything I see
Is haiku.
— Takahama Kyoshi (tr. Geoffrey Bownas)
_____________________________________________________________________________
.
![this turning of the year (the light fades [slowly] ) to fall... (I'm learning to lean against) I guess there's nothing to stop it (an axis of absence)](https://haikuproject.files.wordpress.com/2012/09/screen-shot-2012-09-22-at-6-42-24-pm.png "this turning of the year")
— Johannes S. H. Bjerg, 3ournals & Frags
.
.
everyone waits
for the light to change–
little chestnut moon
— Angie Werren (haiku and image), feathers
.
You are gathered to go,
Strip-lining phone wires,
Faced to the south,
After all that’s been said,
I wish I was with you.
— Matt Morden, Morden Haiku
.
.
dog days
the universe still
a thrown stick
–Rick Daddario (haiku and artwork), 19 Planets
.
.
approaching autumn
in my pocket
a chain for the black dog
–Johannes S. H. Bjerg, Scented Dust
.
off
looking for paradise–
cicada husk
— Josh Hockensmith, No More Moon Poems
.
my friends say leaf-fall
but I say apple-fall
dull-drubbing the grass
— Marie Marshall, Kvenna Rad
(See also: Marie’s “Fragment 200“)
.
The casualty report,
made into a bag
for ripening an apple.
— Sanki Saito (1939), on R’r Blog
.
taiheiyô nomikomeba aki futto kuru
when I swallow
the Pacific Ocean… unexpectedly
autumn
— Fay Aoyagi, Blue Willow Haiku World
.
an octopus trap
in the pawn shop, still wet—
harvest moon
— Mark Harris, from Sea Bandits, edited by Aubrie Cox, downloadable from Yay Words!
.
Scent of burning leaves
the four chambers
of my heart
— Patrick Sweeney, on Issa’s Untidy Hut
.
invited to feel
the stubble on her legs
autumn rain
—Shawn Lindsay, on ant ant ant ant ant’s blog
.
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This new venture looks interesting: Bones: Journal for New Haiku. Editors: Johannes S. H. Bjerg, Alan Summers, Sheila Windsor. They are poets whose work and taste I admire, and they have a manifesto that I like a lot. In part it reads: “Haiku that stands on the firm ground of tradition but has internalized it and is now written for today and the future.”
Fall is always a good time to start things, especially things that require a flow of brisk air to the brain. I hope this venture flourishes. I hope we all do. Have a gentle fall.
.
.
I started this blog two years ago today. Thank you all, you wild flowers.
.
I’d say more, but I might start bawling and get salt water in my keyboard.
.
Red Dragonfly 