Archive # 4

 

fog floats on the fields,
dew forms on the split rail fence
cows still have no clue.
 
heard when raising joists
on the terrier’s doghouse;
‘beam is up, Scottie!
 
On her front porch swing,
she would often be courted,
by the boy next door.
 
Garnish your burger;
cheese, lettuce and onions. Feel
Fickle? Add pickle.
 
When the couch was moved,
some keepsakes from long ago
were re-discovered.
 
A stone partition
never stops my neighbor’s dog
from barking at me.
 
tanka haiku: When I was younger,
Seeing awful musicals,
Didn’t make me sad.
  Now I mourn … for the writers,
  And the time I won’t get back.
 
In a garden lost,
overgrown with grass and weeds,
peonies still bloom.
 
The New Yorker sat,
in his Oklahoma dorm,
drinkin’ his first Coors.
 
Simply looking back,
Well, Honestly, what’s the point,
If you can’t re-write?
 
When you see a picket,
Walking on a picket line,
You have seen Joe Hill.
 
The shipyard has closed,
All the workers have gone home,
Ships aren’t made here now.
 
When you call your love,
Do not buzz nor beckon them,
sweetly sing their name.
 
Do you sing or shout?
Do you belt out the Blues or
Whisper a love song?
 
my mom always had,
gum hidden in her purse, to
shut me up in church.
 
coffee and crullers,
sitting on the dock, watching
the boats come and go.
 
Saturday morning,
biking to the bakery,
The smell of fresh bread.

A pleasant perfume,
Wafts through the air, then lingers,
long after she’s gone.

 
In my neighbor’s yard,
Small holes ev’rywhere … his son
made his own golf course.
 
Without a warning,
Trucks collide near the corner,
Police cars converge.
 
When she walked away,
I brought my hands to my face,
To hold in my dreams.
 
From his lack of sleep,
he tended to forget stuff,
‘What am I writing?’
 
Cookies that crumble,
Are still cookies after all,
And thus, taste as sweet.

a list? Who needs lists?
I remember ev’rything,
what was I saying?

 
Lonely blue highways,
asphalts to infinity,
Still, I travel on.
 
When I was younger,
I drove through Mississippi,
and ‘saw for myself.’
 
To find Tupelo,
Just head down the Natchez Trace,
No map is needed.
 
off in a corner,
sits a quiet little girl,
who dreams of rainbows.
 
wilting violets,
tossed into a wicker bin,
perky petals peaked.
 
tanka haiku: The sun is shining,
and ev’ryone’s filled with joy,
‘cept Toothless McGee,
  Poor guy remains mis’rable,
  and sick of eating oatmeal.
 
Wait, before you go,
I’m afraid I must confess,
it’s you, I adore.
 
The edge of a cliff,
hanging on by fingernails,
Damned manicure. AAaaarrggghhhh
 
Double haiku:  Look, there’s a tourist,
in the middle of Times Square
waiting out the storm.
‎  No, they weren’t singing,
  They were taking photographs,
  Of the wet neon.
 
Too many raindrops,
fell on the geranium,
now it looks depressed.
 
Oooo, it felt quite moist,
and more than a bit sticky,
iced ginger cake … yum.
 
 
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