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Christian Bixler Jun 2020
tulip
in its root is
every root
A rewrite of no. 131.
Christian Bixler Jun 2020
colored in
a trees bend
and a tune
On a drive.
Christian Bixler Jun 2020
lemons
in the bowl one
is chipped
A centerpiece.
Christian Bixler Jun 2020
grout lines
a row stayed
of fishermen
Christian Bixler Jun 2020
ahead
two red cedars
before pines
Christian Bixler Jul 2020
from above
backlit waves
of plastic
Christian Bixler Feb 2017
Hush! there
the silence stirs, flutters--
is so again.
And in the early
mornings air we hear-- again
the sparrow's song.
Two haiku, presented flush together; so portraying the sounds of the morning, when I can get my friends to hush.
Christian Bixler Mar 2021
blink
white petals are drifting
between clouds
Christian Bixler May 2021
scuttling tail
the rock falls
into place
Christian Bixler Oct 2021
fungal bloom
hidden beneath is
its source
Christian Bixler Dec 2021
for awhile
the rain-washed limb
glows
Christian Bixler Mar 2022
how rare
afternoon turning to evening
on my skin
Thank you for reading. Recently I’ve decided to work seriously on my poetry, on haiku in particular, so you can expect more regular posts. Also there may be a personal website in the future. If there is I’ll link it here. Thanks again!
Christian Bixler Jun 2022
yellow sky
the winter grass
deepens
I wrote this as a draft last year, then forgot about it. After review it looks like it holds up.
Christian Bixler Dec 2023
dim hallway
alone the hanging lamp
floats
Christian Bixler Dec 2023
pale gate
in darkness
the hanging lamp

or

pale gate
in darkness
the unlit lamp
Christian Bixler Sep 2024
quiet morning
my eyes travel up the pines
to the sky

or

quiet morning
my eyes stay awhile
at the tops of the pines
Christian Bixler Feb 2017
Birdsong
dew clings to grasses edge--
wind breaks the stillness.
Written so, throughout the course of an hour, more or less; but I think now it is good.
after a mornings snowmelt
the next morning
dawns
It snowed briefly here in Athens Georgia today.
savoring earl grey
my pen rests
between Masters
evening after snow
the trees limbs
are limned in light
dawn light -
the weight of the air
settles in
Slow morning
well-loved cardigan
I glance at everything
but the calendar
bluebird courting
on each branch he bobs
up and
down
birdsong
and roses
this imaginary garden
her braided hair
in the lamplight
and daylight
one small ear poking out
her covers rise
and fall
in the daylight her face just sleeping
Christian Bixler Feb 2017
Along the lake
refuse floats at waters edge;
yet still birds sing.
There is much so, for which we may weep; yet there remains still light.
glasses case
when will it
come back to me
through a seam in the blinds
the sun
still
Christian Bixler Feb 2017
Butterfly, green as
leaves in springtime, fluttering--
sound, heart's chords.
Sight of a green butterfly twirling on the currents of the air. I watched it so for as long as it remained in my sight. Then I went and wrote this verse.
Christian Bixler Feb 2017
In that park, wooded
so, the great pines weave, standing--
drunken giants.
The sight of all the pines extending below me down the hill, criss-crossed every which way, leaning far on their rooted anchors.
Christian Bixler Feb 2017
Grass, soft, in tired
eyes, shadows strewn; diamonds glint
in evening's light.
In the evening, I saw amid the grass shining points of light. I do not know what these may be; but how they shined in the dying light!
Christian Bixler Feb 2017
The cup forgotten,
left, upon the rain-wet sill
will I drink tomorrow's dew?
Working Title; but judge it as you will.
Christian Bixler Feb 2017
Bark of the old
pine, rough at my touch--
scented breeze.
A moment of transcendence I experienced once, alone in a state park of surpassing beauty-I could never convey in words what I experienced that day. Yet, I hope that this verse may at least in part, convey the wonder and joy of that moment.
Christian Bixler Feb 2017
For beauties' sake
I trace this wooded road--
trailing pennants.
Trailing pennants: plastic bags caught in the trees beside the road; yet also maybe the Spanish moss that hangs from so many of the trees here.
Christian Bixler Feb 2017
By an old road
gate shut--
a blackbird darts past.
Christian Bixler Feb 2017
Old church--
in freshen blooms, standing
a double pine.
Christian Bixler Feb 2017
By the roadside
five lone purple flowers
among the clover.
Christian Bixler Feb 2017
Standing
yet another grass-grown road--
the gate is open!
Christian Bixler Feb 2017
Tall trees, bare
limbs straight; at their feet
how green the mead!
Christian Bixler Feb 2017
Among the trash
wanton strewn
a golden flower.
Christian Bixler Feb 2017
Bare stem on
ground upright--on its limb
the flower-plume.
Christian Bixler Feb 2017
Spirit, yearning so
waves, the cherry blossom hangs
so high; so my love.
Perfect Love, the highest ideal, hangs above me, forever unattainable; yet I strive, and in doing so I am filled with awareness, and through this, peace. And so I am content in my striving, though it may bring me to tears, at times. For I am doing my best. And that is enough.
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