cloudless sky~
the daymoon's dark half
just as blue
stateline:
a butterfly
keeps crossing
a pink coffin
for anna nicole
--spring begins
here and now
a ginko paves the street
with gold
street corner---
the homeless vet collects
dusk in his hat
farmer's market~
a flat bed truck
delivers autumn
dark spirits~
my ink stained fingers
haunting the page
November lawn~
a doll house drifting
deeper in the leaves
Banderas Bay~
the jellyfish drift
with the stars
outskirts---
a street lamp lights
a patch of weeds
noon cathedral~
the weight of the shadow
under the bell
mushroom hunting---
our VW bug
gets lost in the fog
dad's reflection---
some of the silver
rubbed off the mirror
girl's volleyball---
the custodian sweeps
the same spot
thick fog:
you can't muffle sorrow
mourning dove!
telephone:
by the way it doesn't ring
knowing its her
rate
email
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Comments: 4
a few of these:
street corner---
the homeless vet collects
dusk in his hat
farmer's market~
a flat bed truck
delivers autumn
dad's reflection---
some of the silver
rubbed off the mirror
Take me somewhere vivid and familiar - no small feat for just a few syllables...however skillfully placed.
When I found The Haiku Anthology several years ago, my opinion of haiku underwent a serious change. These haiku made "something happen to you" (for lack of a better expression) when you read it. It had nothing to do with misguided syllable quotas or line counts. They seemed like incantations, spells. Compressed, "encoded" images that bloom inside the mind.