Haiku for the week: 07/11/14 – 07/17/14

The grasshoppers are voracious…I’m not sure what makes them so persistent or ubiquitous, but there you have it. The week in haiku began and ended with the boogers chewing up leaves, irritating me and my happy garden hopes…upon reflection, this week’s haiku are a smidge pessimistic – I’ll have to blame those pests.

grasshoppers slingshot
from pock-marked greenery as
I brush past, mourning

no blood-guttered streets,
no locusts belie my plague:

and when the day stills,
squat sun spills off the pages,
writes her own ending

pink taffied skies
throb olive-pined abrasive
just before dawn

A fellow member of a facebook group of haiku writers posted a poem about a Freudian slip. It was elegant and and concise. While mine isn’t necessarily either of those things…it was inspired by actual events:

07/16/14 when we asked the art major about her college sports team
my daughter said she
didn’t care, then gasped, “I meant
I don’t know…must’ve

been a Freudian
sleep” she gasped again and laughed,
“I may be tired”.

stability of
tripods: irrefutable.
why have just two legs?

why would we have discarded
our primal, prehensile tails?

(written 07/17/14 for 7/11/14)
for now, it is rain
drops, not grasshoppers, that ping,
unnerving the leaves.

So, I’m not willing to spray the grasshoppers or anything. They are an ephemeral, if not annoying, malady. Like most things, they will be outlived. My best to you and yours – may your life this week be substantially more resistant to grasshoppers (figurative or actual) than mine!

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Haiku of the week: 07/04/14 – 07/10/14

I have some new worlds for you to visit. These poems are adventuresome and discordant collages for you to try on…

history of an abandoned dependence

teal-arced window eyes
x-raying my smuggling
salty-fingered stance;

sand-blasting graveyards
tended by invasive birds,
reclaiming those ghosts;

sifting ruined dunes
plaiting truths, warped and wefted
thread through meadows’ sighs;

drop-stitch clairvoyance
tweaking spokes, circled truths: we’d
captured each other

his hands kited sky
wards, skittering hisses strum
windblown lines to earth

sunlit tractor beams
orange your dark eyes, eyelash
your finger tipped mouth:

overexposed film
erases your white spaces
dark dreaming; gleaming

parsing sparse barbs which,
nettling within neural nets,
spawn bright, spare insight

what instincts

school fish to swarm, then
scatter, silver-flashed, and slice
against the current?

are we all feathered
birds to you, hovering at
your limbs, decorative?

Roadkill Rapture

Bloated grey corpses
sleep off their rash injuries,
nursing green-grassed dreams.

Leave them where they lie,
all ruffled fur bent supine
on crack-baked asphalt.

Shovel the homeless aside
let them rise from the ditches.


I double-dog dare you to write a little each day. Maybe just 17 syllables…see where they lead you!

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Haiku for the week: 06/26/14 – 07/03/14

Rocket’s red glares are pounding at my temples in our neighborhood the day before the 4th. While I love the smell and smokey afterbirth of firework displays, I dislike hearing the random noisy fists and starts leading up to the event though I get how you don’t mind it when you’re the one doing it…

bounce-housed brain shudders,
pulses, thwacking into self:
giddy, busy joy

snakeskinny dipping,
horse apples, and IEDs:
land mines in Eden.

In other news, the fecund, summer weather has matured into a humid, lusty metaphor of our relationships…

06/28/14 the “how’s” and “why’s “of Happy Endings- as dared by Margaret Atwood
should it mean something
how sky’s wavery fibers,
her striated clouds,

are constellations
in your iris flecked with brown
birds? how sand dunes sift,

cousining your gyred
whorling fingerprinted loops
when you account for

the time difference?
how we secrete magma’s fierce
heat through these veined souls?

On this evening, I listened so very hard for a haiku that the listening itself became my observation:

stretching my ears to
the horizons until they
meet back up again

Other nights, it’s the snores of my domesticated beasties echoing my own weariness that inspired these words:

07/01/14 what we took for granted
restlessly we streamed
twitchy dreams of suckling-
awakening weaned

Two words on the poem for the 2nd “True Story”…but somehow the literal translated to the universal  with some accuracy

pretending it’s not
dark, we whistle down hallways
cussing at door jambs

And this, a reminiscence from this morning’s cool, dewy drive with the windows down, scents of early innocence bittersweet with loss as I made my way to physical therapy among the other impaireds like myself.

new shorn alfalfa
scrubs glinting dawn breezes bald:
sea sick nostalgia

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Haiku for the week 06/21/14 – 06/25/14

It’s been such a sweet, sloppy, stretching week…I’ve had the mind-space to putter around like I used to when I took summers off and it’s been utterly decadent. I think it shows in how much of this week’s poetry is more present-based (reflecting more traditional haiku content) and less intellectual…they’re little vignettes from this partial stay-cation I’d accidentally fallen into by some strange predilection of chance and am sharing with you. Savor!

dusky eyelidded
nightfall withers, coyly sighs,
and breezes the dawn

young blue jays dart, prance,
chuff at each other; spiral
through branches like smoke

heart’s clingy how’s/why’s
buzz with questioned marks, stinging,
till acceptance starts

06/24/14 sun shower
chilling glitter’s trace
on hands and face; while flip-flopped
feet feel asphalt’s heat

plucking memories:
sun-blackened, ripe mulberries
escaped from your beak


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Haiku for the week 06/12/14 – 06/20/14

Ever try to NOT to think? I suppose that’s my excuse for missing two days of haiku. I was busy feeding my soul with warm friendship, open skies full of cottonwood fluff, pine cologne, and spirals of campfire smoke; enjoying the “now” without judging it with labels or words. It’s funny that haiku is supposed to reflect those “now” moments, but requires a distance from it to find it…perhaps that’s the zen paradox of it? I’ll start with a “make-up” haiku attempting to capture some of my observations from the weekend camping, it was written 06/16/14…

for 06/12, 06/14 & 06/15/14:

lung capillaries,
firmly embedded dark roots
ensconced in space-time,

sludging corpuscles
(pulsing tubes of flesh/earth/air
equalizing us)

spin corollaries
of networked stars, land, and mind:
fractal tapestries



new tar, like chalky
wooden dominoes, dashes
along driftwood posts

snaking dotted lines
holding in slick black cattle-
sun gleaming us home

06/16/14(I got off my crutches – YAY!)

as if upright weren’t
something to take for granted,
she up-offed all fours

I have been working through my ambivalence about the weather through a lot of my haiku. I imagine that could sound a little dotty, especially if you’re not from an agricultural-based place…but as a teen, I’d always imaged fickle weather as a sort of a personal nurturer, almost like a religion to me…and sometimes she’s a cruel provider of winds of aggravating strength, of neglectful heat and oppressive humidity – teasing us into humility with the withdrawal of her erstwhile gentle, kindness. We’ve had too much rain, have been left with standing water on baked earth, but we’re still in the depths (shallows??) of severe water shortages so when all day long building rainclouds pass just by us, I whisper a prayer of thanks while lifting a fist of resentment. These are strange times.


piercing skies (after
tumults) dazzle; how these storms
will clear our dark eyes


06/18/14 kick them when they’re drought

acrid smudged thunder
fingerpaints mold clouds
across chromed arc skies

feral storms simmer,
spread wanderlust on radars
bruise the growling air

skittering thermals
careen ever eastward to
wilt our horizons


And then, this morning, I woke up with the first two lines of this haiku prancing in my forehead. I am at a loss as to where she came from, but I love her story and am hopeful we’ll all hear more from her:


AllahMay LaRue
calls her baby mo ‘teet shoo
“cabbage head,” she said…

with her strong, sure hands,
spins her wishes to commands,
sips fool’s gold from straws,

whispers knowingly,
clutches her child tenderly,
sighs and wipes her eyes

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Haiku for the week of 06/06/14 – 06/11/14

I’m a bit early this week, chomping at the bit (or would it be, in writing parlance, “chomping at the nib?”) in anticipation of a short camping trip and the rejuvenation I’m already feeling in having taken an extra day (in the MIDDLE of the WEEK!) to prepare and putter. I’ve needed the time and change of scenery to defrag my whirlwinded and weary brain. Here’s a sample of my neuron firings lately in 17 syllables:

Whet these thoughts, dip them
in glue; smooth them supple and
soft beside the blue.

Once hardened, we’ll crack
them open with bats; shattered
rains, scattering truth.

I live in Kansas where spring rains have always made me think of twisters. This next haiku is result of excessive weather channel viewing and psuedoephedrine ingestion prior to attempting to sleep: my restless and half-lucid memories when my alarm went off were of random images swirling in a blender:

wind-sheared roof wrenched free,
vulture-winged and orbiting-
quilted sky debris

and then, sometimes, it’s worth the nonsense I’d written the day before because something like this pours out of me while I’m scribbling in the car (as a passenger, I promise! I practice safe poetry!):

06/08/14 psalm of the symbiotes
stretch flat our meadows
and valleys//we’ll rake fingers
through thatchy grasses//

unearth these winding
folded trails//swarm as frothy
funnels exploring

barren fields//bonding
roots in these ruts//leaking
sky in our wakes

or like these two which struck me as I contemplated Janet Fitch’s blog and her next word of the week, “Ground” – ironic after having spent several earlier poems in the air…

for 06/09/10 (written on 06/10/14)
crackled ground resists
rain whose inky rivulets
batik my backyard

contrast this figure,
this empowered drumbeat, with
her quiet, shadowed ground

and finally, a little reflection on how I get irritated with myself for getting irritated with others, or something along those lines…have I mentioned I’m looking forward to having a break?

would I were a sieve,
sifting judgment’s brackish grey
while panning for bold

Take care, and, with a little luck, a restored and well-rested me will see you next week!


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Haiku for the week: 05/31/14 – 06/05/14

I love summer thunderstorms with their brazen power taking up the entire sky, scrubbing at the earth, putting us all in our place. We’ve been waking up to pummelled tree branches along the humid streets; proof of the beatings we heard the night before…and that next evening, slapping sheets of rain give way to innocent silence.


and then, there are those metaphoric storms we create within us…

05/31/14 Regret
Rancid tornadoed
curdled, roiling clouds – chaos
brewed of tortured ghosts.

06/02/14 Argument
leering clouds unzip
from the flat, wet earth
(glazed with pewter hail

stoned accusations)
looming tendrils yield buttered
pastel sunset peace

cup your hands to hurt-
we know in our bones, our guts,
scar tissue is strength

06/04/14 Insomnia
well-worn river stones,
monotonous and skipping,
keep me from the shore

all reminders of the cyclical shiftiness of the weather, and its distant cousin, our souls; calling us towards the warmth when sun’s stunning rays return.


frenzied giddiness
couldn’t boil itself down,
couldn’t make it stick

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