Saturday, March 31, 2012

small poems

These are some of the haiku, and other small poems, that I've posted on Facebook and on my blog, since August 2011. I thought I'd share them here for a while.

tomorrow comes
whether or not
I pick up my pen

in another life
these same gold fish
swam with the stars

dad’s soft wool shirt
against the night

in this half-light —
the garden troll
as Buddha 

not even the bees
visit her garden

holding the map
upside down —
the path is revealed

somewhere a cat
becomes a shadow

reaching for the alarm —
shutting off
the dream

from full moon to new moon
African violet 
loses its bloom

in the distance
a white shawl takes flight —
what do seagulls dream about?

in shallow water
a frog shuts his eyes
and disappears

every day
walking around
my own volcano

1000 geese overhead —
2 laughing Buddhas
in the bed

last night
dreaming myself young again
brown hair below my waist

sung by my cat or my grandmother?
this sweet dream

than yesterday

sweeping yellow leaves
from the front steps
yesterday     —     today

all night long
trying to get to the other side
of the pillow

miniature zen garden 
sand and stone 
inside a matchbox — —
where do you go 
when you are lost?

beyond the “Keep Out!” sign
Buddha statue

between ocean
and moon —
no secrets

some pumpkins
can't wait
for Halloween

counting leaves
as they fall 
the child runs out of numbers

this morning  
on another street
someone else's cat in the window

slicing ginger for tea
we gossip
heat rises

in the meantime
a year passes
her blue shawl unravels

the same mountain 
the same moon 
not the same poet

bus stop graffiti
“Nothing Lasts Forever”
removed by work crew

how difficult
to hum 

end of October —
each falling leaf
enjoys a last laugh

full moon
perched like a pumpkin
on a clock tower

climbing the mountain 
carrying the moon 
on my back — —
chasing the moon
down the mountain 
a lighter backpack 

early November
even the sun
wants to sleep in 

the last apple falls —
you are not 

a pot of tea 
cooling on the table  —
so many clocks to change

in an instant 
swallows the moon

full moon 
when you feel shy
come hide behind my curtain

you say you sent the moon
to watch over me —
if only you had come yourself

change direction

early morning 
walk from room to room 
waking wind chimes

with the plants again —
mini waterfall

mid November
the pumpkins are smaller
the mountains are taller

somewhere else
the moon rises —
my pen keeps moving

ants on parade —
on closer look:
a handful of scattered raisins

fly high
dance into the wind
taste the clouds

sunrise — 
when it's day, it's day
sunset —
when it's night, it's night

open your hands —
garden dust
flutters toward winter

morning clock
louder than
night clock

wall calendar
two months out of date —
no one notices

I could hold a pencil for a year
and not find
the poem of you

winter doesn't wait for summer —
but I will always wait
for you

shattered —
my favorite mug —
the voices inside my head

a new shade of rain
finds me on a park bench —
Strawberry Fields (forever)

tiny frog leaps
from pad to pad —
Monet's water lilies 

waiting —  waiting — 
waiting — 
butterfly lands on my up-turned palm

young men 
yoga-bragging in the deli —
"100 downward dogs, dude!"

I'll be a child again

my memory house —
every window opens to

under the same moon
my past
your future

plant zinnias with me —
return to watch 
them bloom — —
saying farewell
in every language we know 

late december
the goldfish pond

come with me —
we'll ride the wild wind
into the moon's soft embrace

after the longest night —
exhausted star lies down
in bird's nest

in the dream 
because you are always you 
when the cat speaks 
I understand

white butterflies at the window —
snowy morning —
my nearsightedness

who is this woman
walking inside my shadow —
wintersun morning

the contents —
an empty box

when I touch your cheek
why do I smell

between two winters
an old friend 

taking a new route home —
stone pagoda
how long have you been here?

inside the abandoned typewriter
a poem
wakes up

grandfather clock
no longer competitive
guesses the hour

old year
new year
the cat sleeps

a deeper red
within my folded hands
where your heart has been

last year's dust
still here
still everywhere

how many years
since we crossed this bridge together?
only my footprints now

begin a journey
upside down —
walking the sky trail

stepping into your snow prints—
the walk home

following your shadow
across the night bridge —
never catching up

red nail polish —
her hands  
so loud

pouring tea 
into my favorite cup —
rain fills a river

slowdance around a fire circle —
midwinter ashes

rocking chair
back and forth
until day breaks

untangling a wave 
from the ocean —
your deepest sigh

tai chi 
beside a frozen waterfall  —
young man   /   seagull

great blue heron 
washing dishes 
at the kitchen sink — —
what are you doing in Grandma's apron?
what are you doing in my dream?

restless night
only the wind chimes 
and me
her collection 
of broken combs —
morning rage

opens her arms 
to catch a falling star

listen —
our laughter in this old photograph —
my sister and me

photo album —
my younger self
finally catches up


mother —
the secret cowgirl —
never at home on the range

second floor window —
the plants are gone —
it's been years since you lived there

hungry old moon
not even 1,000 bows
will satisfy you

full moon
stares a hole through rock —

fed up with change —
last year's calendar
still hangs on the kitchen wall

waving to us all —
a child's gray glove
hanging from the lowest branch

here I am —
somewhere between ocean and moon 
somewhere between lost and found 

my face
in the mirror —
all in one bowl
shells from different oceans
sing the same song

turning my gaze
from the weeping moon —
saving face

the candle goes out —
we are still asleep

forgive me
for not recognizing you
disguised in an old woman's body

rain puddle —
tipping over
into my own reflection

winter blows —
words fly across the page

waiting all day
for snow
to fill the silence

halfway across winter's bridge
caught by my mother's scent —

coaxing music 
from a blade of grass
calling the cows home

beside the silo
antique rocking horse
stuck in the mud

chalked on the sidewalk —
step carefully

a strong wind —
collapsible umbrella

evening breeze
the neighbor's bamboo
returns my bow

a week later
the red rose
still brooding

early morning stillness —
my thumbs
circle their own wheel 

stubborn grapevine
pushing through the bedroom window —
where has the moon gone?

on this cloudy day
even their shadows fight —
3 crows

the two of us 
breathing into the silence —
when did the clock stop?

puffed up with pride —
the moon —
inventor of tides

close the window
the Pleiades
envy your strand of pearls

cresting the mountain
moon hesitates  
no need to rush things — — 
sometimes eternity 
feels like an eternity

dear friend 
come closer 
my flame is going out

all my watches
running slow —

unbutton the moon from the sky
wear it on your sleeve
next to your heart

pale and watery 
in my bones — 
I need red flowers tonight

visiting the old neighborhood —
is that a jukebox
I hear?

far into the night 
brushing your long grey hair 
time travels backwards

red and yellow apples
in a blue bowl —
still life   /   still, life

a quiet climb     
a noisy sky

mountains remember
when they were elephants —
walking trunk-to-tail 

dear moon
I forgot to look at you last night —
did you see me?

no more clocks —
midnight is never early
dawn is never late

her last breath —
dragon cloud
eats the sky

tying her laces tightly
so she will not 

following the moon
across Kansas —
somehow we get lost

my mother
in the mirror

reading your face —
my finger traces a line
between two age spots

and its reflection —
early morning pond dance

standing at the water's edge
waiting for the stars
and you

outdoor concert
a bee
flies into a trumpet's bell

across the room
my sister
(wrapped in purple silk)
picks up the story
where I leave off

removing cobwebs
from the picnic basket

I am a cracked teapot
on a dusty shelf —
you've been gone so long

alone on the beach
tracing a love letter
across your body

my muddy feet
know the way
to the goldfish pond

spring morning
a coven of daffodils
up to no good

in the middle
of a plowed field —
the family plot

day after day
the same cafe —
delicious snow peas
flower shop
the owner and her parrot
beak to beak 

on the clothesline:
a dozen blue handkerchiefs —
my neighbor's prayer flags
in her own shadow —
black cat
I pour the tea
you butter the toast —
our waitress thinks we are sisters
snowy night
a lonely rooster
snuggles against the chimney pot

half-past three
the poet's cat 
snores in iambic pentameter

you, with your fiery wings
how many moons
can you juggle?

unweaving spring flowers
from your long black braid 

no ripples
no breath 
this moment bows to the sea

needing a nap
settling for
a slow blink

almost Easter —
neighbor's Halloween porch
even scarier now

catching spring rain
in my cupped hands —
no reflection in this shallow pool