today
my only wish:
to follow a cloud
ag ~ 2013
haiku
Spring Cleaning and The Blues
news of an old friend’s passing—
I switch Pandora
to a blues station
(for Pat)
~
Spring cleaning
I scour grief and grease
with abandon
~
news of a new friend’s passing
the gift of her smile
returns
(for Yvette)
~
through it all
the piercing presence of thistle
in the garden
~
between words
I use the pencil sharpener
grandpa’s dad’s mine
(for Glenn)
~
jewel weed emerges in the garden I return home
(for me)
~
ag
Who Exactly Saves Daylight?
clocks spring forward
the last hour slips under
morning’s pillow
~
the dog’s stomach
and mine growl
at the new timetable
~
daylight savings time lost in translation
contrails and foxtails
a wispy wave
to the morning
~
It’s the last day of February, 2019, and the ending to my practice of writing at least one haiku per day for National Haiku Writers Month–always February. I missed only a couple of days including yesterday. The practice of writing a daily haiku is more of an exercise in taking a closer look at moments that often get ignored or diluted in busy-ness. It’s also a great practice in articulating and editing just enough to give these moments breath and respect. For all of this and more–I am grateful.
~
beginnings and endings
false starts and fine finishes
always in the editing
The Wind As Muse
purpling wind
Picasso’s cubism
starts to make sense
~
purpling wind
head to the east
nose to the west
~
purpling wind on a whim I channel my inner Picasso
Dora. By Pablo Picasso
Postcard Moments
the sea distills time into postcard moments a tumbledown pale blue and yellow
A Hop Skip and A Ku
skipping in and out
of the waiting room
a new haiku
Beach Stones and A Picasso Quote
Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up. Pablo Picasso ~
beach stones stacked on her windowsill Picasso’s ode to the young-at-heart artist
Body Fluency
back to basics
the osteopath pushes and pulls
my crookedness
~
TMJ: my body’s trash talk
~
how much easier would it be born fluent in body language?
Contour Lines
blotting paint off my canvas contours new questions
~
as the narrative unfolds blue to black to blue again
