Category: My Poetry & Fiction

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With parsimony,
the sky brightened an hour late:
I saved some daylight

– a pseudo-haiku.

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some clouds came along
and they set up battlements
on the hills' ridges

– a pseudo-haiku.

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When people annoy
I turn to my computer
and program something.

– a pseudo-haiku.

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Outside my window, western hemlocks
tower and confront the clear air
while stale snow begins to melt.
But in shadows it's cool;
amid broad blue skies
there are all these
disturbing,
brooding
doubts.

– a nonnet.

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Got nothing but dawn
nothing but a pink hillside
nothing, just some trees

– a pseudo-haiku.

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Blue mooncraters embedded in ice.
Blue sky overhead making light.
Blue tickmarks counting the hours.
Blue ice, scored by the stones.
Blue, baroque bubbles.
Blue curvatures.
Blue, broken.
Blue thoughts.
Blue.

– a pseudo-haiku.

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Your age is the point
where your past meets your future
and you decide stuff.

– a pseudo-haiku.

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From high ambition,
I traipse through unmade countries,
to disappointment.

– a pseudo-haiku.

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well there's some coffee
nice when you wake so early
the trees are not still

– a pseudo-haiku.

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dawn climbs over here
leaving behind over there
licking her fingers

– a pseudo-haiku.

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Before dawn we went
and pulled the boat out and up;
the light struck water.

– a pseudo-haiku.

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Oatmeal for breakfast
which has become the habit -
that and my window.

– a pseudo-haiku.

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the demons dwell there
those spaces beside potholes
snapping at machines

– a pseudo-haiku.

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The mountain is pink
where the gold sun finds its snows
and the air shivers.

– a pseudo-haiku.

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they said he was bad
disliking his love of rules
he drew lines through space

– a pseudo-haiku.

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The snow turns to rain;
rain turns to snow turns to rain;
winter spits its spite.

– a pseudo-haiku.

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The rain falls on snow
A creek sings exultations
Water over ice

– a pseudo-haiku.

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My mood plunged in the wake of events:
A machine refuses to work.
I'm not so mechanical...
At least, not as I'd like.
So a gloom descends:
A rain on snow -
Insistent -
Melting
Drifts.

– a pseudo-haiku.

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The saw wouldn't work.
Frustration overtook me.
I stood in the snow.

– a pseudo-haiku.

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The moon approached dispassionately,
with not a glance to either side.
A hoary cloud floated by,
blurring her pocked, pale face.
The earth ignored her,
preoccupied
with winter
and ice.
Cool.

– a nonnet.

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Is it possible to write poems
about the sprawling internet?
All the seething, grasping text
that underlies a world -
an engineered mind -
a clockwork brain:
idiot
savant
soul.

– a nonnet.

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The atmosphere tastes like frozen grapes
and snow conceals the doubtful path.
I step forward, then sideways.
A bird rushes by me.
The hill hides the sun
but the sky's blue.
A branch snaps.
Silent
place.

– a nonnet.

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Yesterday it snowed from dawn to dusk.
So I stayed in for the morning.
I thought the firewood could wait.
Fat flakes fell on windows.
Still, I took a walk.
The road was white.
I left tracks,
Saw trees,
trudged.

– a nonnet.

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Bits of shredded trees all embedded
in slopes of frozen mud and snow
testify to the assaults
committed by machines
impelled by profits
hungry for wood
devouring
churning
wants.

– a nonnet.

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The eagle circled round and landed
in a hemlock by the river.
Yellow beak and white head spun.
A branch shuddered and swayed.
So the raven swooped,
changing her spot
from a rock
to a
pine.

– a nonnet.

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The bones inside my head sit and wait.
They enclose my meditations,
Covered in muscle and skin.
But they will have their day.
These bones will emerge.
Time removes flesh.
They'll become
Empty,
White.

– a nonnet.

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Sun and blue skies: an aberration.
The rainforest is stilled by cold.
In winter, here, clouds protect.
They deliver slow rain.
Without them, skies clear.
The heat escapes.
Snow lingers.
Deer hide.
Frost.

– a nonnet.

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Words plow down hillsides and bore tunnels.
They carve canyons in melting snow.
Semantic rivulets form.
The sun glints off meanings.
Shadows are dispelled.
Bits of ice melt.
Ideas.
Water.
Thought.

– a nonnet.

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No
Of course
Don't tell me
I have been rude
I spoke out of turn
The words came unbidden
And tumbled down between us
Like misplaced pets gallivanting
In search of love that cannot find them

– a reverse nonnet.

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There is a rooster who lives next door.
He gets a mood at five A.M.
I don't know how he does this.
He announces his mood.
The darkness just waits.
Unresponsive.
Cold air hangs.
Wind blows.
Stars.

– a nonnet.