the dead parts of me

June 6, 2014 § 1 Comment

 

onion grass my son pukes in the sink

 

the moon who cares where it is

 

your feet they’re nicer than mine

 

bottle caps rattle among the spoons

 

the crow says something for the crows

 

asphalt heat and foreign policy

 

the dead parts of me pester the rest

 

stale crackers easy to put them back

 

your twat I never call it that

 

the cat’s meow what’s that really about

 

the penny not as old as it looks

 

the extra napkin always gets tossed

 

rain check nothing to do with the rain

 

your fingerprint a consistent prostitute

 

the place on you I know you can’t touch

 

box tops they usually tear anyways

 

nails one of them in my foot

 

sassafras people still actually say that

 

your panties entwined with my odd socks

 

toothpaste not sure what I’m supposed to think

 

all the knives clean I hit the lights

 

 

 

 

work

May 21, 2014 § Leave a comment

 

applicant human

verification even this

part I fail

magnetic poetry kit

May 10, 2014 § 1 Comment

 

to melt owl petal mushroom moon can bark

HAIKU FOR MARTIN LUCAS

May 7, 2014 § Leave a comment

 

a new

anthology I learn

of his passing

 

 

his brother

concerned

for days

 

 

on the page

before me in

the old anthology

 

 

went for a walk

left his keys his phone

his pills

 

 

said yes

once to one of

my poems

 

 

“Is that from your

technique or the toughness

of your mouth?”

 

 

your death

attributed to

bird-watching

 

 

a collection

of flowers that’s

all it means

 

 

his last photo

he looks younger

than me

 

 

1962-2014

mayfly

May 2, 2014 § Leave a comment

 

mayfly

we all only

live a day

 

 

 

CHRIS GORDON early haiku 1994-1996

March 27, 2014 § Leave a comment

 

my cold feet

step on her bra

still warm

 

fallen elm leaves

the plastic bag

remains

 

unlocking the door

the key she gave

back to me

 

I buy

another book about

non-attachment

 

 

Modern Haiku 25.2

 

 

a beautiful mouth

the postal clerk says

she likes my writing

 

 

Modern Haiku 25.3

 

 

fast-food containers

the weeds green from

the warm rain

 

 

Modern Haiku 26.1

 

 

the hot asphalt roof small white petals blow in circles

 

her hand covers my ear the sound blood makes

 

 

Modern Haiku 26.2

 

 

tea our silence and the hot still morning garden

 

light warm rain

mosquitos drift up

through wisteria and dusk

 

the full moon

coats the dark lake

boarding an empty bus

 

 

Frogpond 18.2

 

 

the orange glint of rush hour way up there a hawk circling

 

a train enters the distance empty sheets smooth and cool

 

imagining her with someone else behind the blinds the moon

 

weeks later her sweet voice it’s just a machine

 

the crosswalk whistles skimming the pavement an empty bag

 

 

Frogpond 18.3

 

 

in the dust splotches of rain half the billboard flaps in the wind

 

a gliding egret the clouds converge on themselves

 

 

Frogpond 19.3

 

HAIKU IN ENGLISH: THE FIRST HUNDRED YEARS ant ant ant ant ant

January 30, 2014 § 1 Comment

:

the cloud-edge on the horizon deer head in the freezer

:

Jon Cone

Issue Six

:

:

where the lines end and the absence begins an architecture or so

:

Chris Gordon

Issue Five

:

:

clear winter sky over the radio the first bombs

:

Dorothy Howard

Issue Four

:

:

whittling

till there’s nothing left

of the light

:

Jim Kacian

Issue Five

:

:

your hair drawn back

the sharp taste of radishes

:

M. Kettner

Issue Five

:

:

meadow speaking the language she dreams in

:

Scott Metz

Issue Nine

:

:

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