A sudden waft of perfume at 1:00 a.m.:
night-blooming cereus.
*
Six hours of broken sleep.
I wake to find a web across my door.
*
I eat the good half of a hairy peach
as quickly as I can.
*
Distant tropical storm.
A small flock of migrants gusts around the yard.
*
Above the blue-and-while dogwood berries,
a blue-and-white warbler.
OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES
- Bridge to Nowhere
- Natural Faculties
- (Re-)Claiming the Body
- Ceiling snakes
- Train Song
- Surgery of the Absurd
- Notes toward a taxonomy of sadness
- Weeding
- Blanket
- Forecast
- Curriculum Vitae
- Lullaby
- Fist
- On Reading The Separate Rose by Pablo Neruda
- Gibbous
- Song of the Millipede
- Autumn haibun
- Bread & Water
- Jersey Shore
- Initiation
- October dusk
- Goodnight moon
- Antidote
- The Starlings
- To the Child I Never Had
- Ambitions
- Learn Harmonica Today
- Two-line haiku
- Sleeper Cell
- Unchurched
- Turnips
- Homiletics
- Magic Carpet
- When the Wind is Southerly
- Connection
- Ground Beetle
- Étude for the World’s Smallest Violin
Along the avenues, fallen arms of trees;
a lick of brown from the river’s tongue.
3 a.m., alarm harsh. In the dark summer swelter,
I make a cup of coffee by touch.
In the dark, as the rain sketched furious lines,
I remembered the salt-shapes of fish.
3 days left of august
the young blackbird learns to fly
Thanks, Dorothee. Let me just add a link to your blog post, new moon on monday.
thanks for adding the blog post link. really enjoyed this unexpected poetic start into the new week.
The fish with unsleeping, hollow eyes
holds an ocean of sound in its wooden belly.
I misread one line three times – substituting “migrant gusts” for “flock of migrants gusts”. Either works, although I rather like the thought of even the winds migrating.
Your cereus reminds me – my cereus monstrouse bloomed in July after ten years of just sitting in its pot. One a.m. seems to be the time, regardless of variety.
That was a good misreading! I guess I didn’t write that because I’d already mined the thought for yesterday’s Morning Porch entry, but probably it was still influencing me.
I’m not sure what variety I have, but blooming twice in two months is quite a surprise!
How to carry fire safely, walking through the hills
with a wooden bowl?
Hands smell of sunflower
after stripping all the buds from the busted stalk.
Across the street, woman picks fallen leaves
from her car’s windshield.
An old sawhorse,
soft, old wood –
spring patronage
pumpkins mold in the basement
Two-line haikus open doors
with a crack like the wind blowing through the house.
see how the poet has restructured the wind as a powerful robot or even with a more gorgeous Queen or Guests waiter to unlock doors –where same species dwell
Inscribe this flesh with fire sear char burn
The heat of words a wind before the mind’s inferno
Power lines fell under the weight of trees.
But poets brought rain, wind, fire.
again here the poet know the power of the word to import huge element sof nature in just few lines of love about ecosystems & whole lot of climate change -flora , fauna inclusive
satanic darkness
lashes out unfeeling sea
And a Chrystalline version:
Satanic darkness lashes out,
untroubled sea softly warms the shore.
this haiku looks simple yet translucent.knowing that light typically annul darkness of whatever origin or malevolence just as the sea s tranquility harvests its grace always or finally@ the shore.
I eat the good half of a hairy peach as quickly as I can.
The reason why haiku require no punctuation is that one is not writing a sentence. A good way to check a haiku entry (stanza) is to put it in one-line and a sentence will show itself.
The above is not a good example of a haiku no matter the line options one used.
one-room schoolhouse
sunlight stops at the broken window
Independence
the smell of the night sky
blue sky
white blossoms gather the light
autumn slum
the red sky in puddles
crushed pumpkin
the sun’s rim dips behind the roof
morning breeze
the curve of an egret’s shadow
fireflies
the heat sticks to the dark
fireflies
the heat sticks to the dark
mountain lake
the night air fills the loon’s call
sun shower
a twig settles in the cloud
day moon
the night stays in the lake
lingering heat
the dirt road ahead of me