awake and weary
the poet sits transfixed with
poems unpapered

Haiku:


#9

Crowning the moon in rainbows,
The clouds

#10

Warm Febuary
Finally Rain
Sidewalk Salamanders

#11

Rainwater
Gathering
Underground

#12

A lonely wind
is keeping the door open

#13

soft
the morning light
birdsong

#14

new moon pinetrees
waiting for the
              wind

#15

Last night's fire
Dying
Under the sun


Senryū:


#11

Watching the rain
Waiting for a poem

#12

Reading to stay awake
Falling asleep
with the light on

#13

Rooster at dawn
Rising
to **** him

#14

outside
the city sounds
inside listening

#15

Breath
Following Breath
Following

#16

a quiet drum
the children sleeping

#17

step after step
we will rest
but not yet

There's a string between
our fingers,
there's a string between the walls,
there are strings that reach
beyond the trees
and sing electric calls.

We listen lest we fall.

All waves!
Breaking shape and making
move where once was static.

The way
that we behave in rain
is no less than dramatic.

The thunder through the window,
the lighting through the glass,
that storm the room
and spark the bloom
to witness flame then ash.

There's a string between
our fingers,
there's a string between the walls,
there are strings that reach
beyond the trees
and sing electric calls.

We listen lest we fall.

I am a kind word uttered and repeated
By the voice of Nature;
I am a star fallen from the
Blue tent upon the green carpet.
I am the daughter of the elements
With whom Winter conceived;
To whom Spring gave birth; I was
Reared in the lap of Summer and I
Slept in the bed of Autumn.


At dawn I unite with the breeze
To announce the coming of light;
At eventide I join the birds
In bidding the light farewell.


The plains are decorated with
My beautiful colors, and the air
Is scented with my fragrance.


As I embrace Slumber the eyes of
Night watch over me, and as I
Awaken I stare at the sun, which is
The only eye of the day.


I drink dew for wine, and hearken to
The voices of the birds, and dance
To the rhythmic swaying of the grass.


I am the lover's gift; I am the wedding wreath;
I am the memory of a moment of happiness;
I am the last gift of the living to the dead;
I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow.


But I look up high to see only the light,
And never look down to see my shadow.
This is wisdom which man must learn.