|
Haiku - September, 2004
remembering
cookies and milk--
a mother sobs
Labor Day--
from suburban patios
smoke signals
sidewalk café--
he toasts himself
with her empty glass
winter mooring--
swans replace
sailboats
|
dog days--
a chorus of crickets
each night
winter sky--
an empty bird nest
in the neighbor's tree
nature walk--
behind the trilliums
a rusty beer can
after midnight--
the frog's song
still off key
|
_September Senryu_
glaucoma
so now she reads and
writes his haiku
nature walk
not quite hidden by the bush
a tourist pees
Back to Owen
Last Month Nov-04
Last Year
|
Haiku - October, 2004
he sleeps --
a book of haiku on the floor
beside his chair
no moon --
lightning bugs fly
from star to star
equinox
the oak's last leaf
spins to the ground
autumn sounds
his hammer
her knitting
|
he wakes --
shoved out the door
into life
wading pool --
a child's finger turns
the half-moon to full
3:00 AM
the streetlight shines
on stillness
fried green tomatoes--
one last game of solitaire
before bed
|
_October Senryu_
three moons--
a broken window
or new galaxy
attic trunk
grandmother's life
in sepia squares
Back to Owen
Last Month Nov-04
Last Year
|