Winter poemsnight temperatures plungein the field, the morning frostmakes the dog turds crunch~performing tonightOrion, and his clubof superstars~darkness comes earlywhere has my summer sun gone,my fallen leaves?~my old friend visits!we kindle the firewith beer~just something I useto win at Scrabble games:QI~naked maple treesnuggle up with me underour blanket of stars~bouncing on my kneehow warm the winter sun isthrough the window pane~rainy day monk--he learns to meditatewith a button combo~sticking out his tonguethe blind man knows no other placewhere snow falls~the uniqe ringtonerevealed in his mating callbelies the Lyrebird *~I smell laundry soapon the walk home, and suddenlythings look brighter!~haiku book tucked awayI gingerly reach for moretoilet paper~quiet down nowand we'll come to understandthe wind between the words~starless winter nightexhaust from gone carslingering in the streetlight~captured!in a frozen puddlethe d
Working Fall Haikualive and dancingthe small, city treeis drunk off rain ~little raindropsspringfrom puddles ~a break in the rushI sit, pants downto write out poems ~hey there dragonflydo you want to have a kid?do you want to die? ~ hey there bumblebeehave you ever thought aboutgetting to be me? ~summer dieshere in my kitchenfrom a bad cold ~prowl cars howling easteven the thunder can't tamethose hunting beasts ~first rainand then the leavesfall ~the turning leaves turn-the first snowfallturns to rain ~my reflectionsa rippleover thin ice ~a bitter coldnessthe snowflakes, her tears fallingbetween two hollows ~the winter wind kissesleave
on shared experienceshey there dragonflydo you want to have a kid?do you want to die?hey there bumblebeehave you ever thought aboutgetting to be me?
Brake BreakingA wet funk rises, musk-like on the chillNight air. It steams from cloudy sewer vents,Streams along the gutters far below mySpinning wheels. The city retreats from eachThrust deftly forced against the pedals. ICareen around the potholes and brokenGlass, heading toward darker spaces farFrom the nescient lamplight of the street. EachBraking lets go animal-like warnings,Voiced through the metal frame lurching belowMeas if some bestial dream awakenedBy the swirling, urbane stench has taught itWhat it means to rust and die. I aloneCan decipher its pleading howl: Im here.Beware. I will not oil, nor seek repair.
The Slumber PartyUninvitedlike the heat apparentIn moist, clinging sheets, the myriad roarsFrom engines whizzing underneath green lights,The sinewy, wet vomit sounds coughed upFrom the sidewalk below, the unmuffledCries thrown through the open window by theLocal vacant teenage drunks (who may haveAlso been responsible for the blastsOf amplified lyrics, demonstratingQuite well the sound of a Doppler shift)theStreetlight beams in through the window screen, asBright, or brighter, than any midday lightThat ever walked this room. There is no breeze.From somewhere, drifting down through layers ofSubconscious activity, a mutedVoice reaches a barely audible point.Footsteps hurry past, a pitter patterOf spirited motion echoed in theTinkling leaves. A soft sleep descends,Slowly flooding uninvited soundsFrom the night. There is a touch of breath, then,Remarkably, a quiet dream of rain.