Category: Haiku

Seeds

I am the flower

Picked fresh on a summer’s morn

Drops of dew glisten

You are the ripe fruit

Harvested ‘neath autumn’s moon

Full-bodied and crisp

We are the slim seeds

Laid to rest with promises

Of life beyond soil

I was listening to tales of Woodstock on the radio this morning while running errands around Tallahassee. This summer marks the 50th anniversary of the famed music festival. I’d tell you I was there, but that would be a lie. I was only 12, and my taste in music was pretty bland.

At any rate my poem was inspired by Joni Mitchell (who wasn’t at Woodstock either) and her song, “We Are Stardust.”

https://youtu.be/cRjQCvfcXn0

Peace, people.

Closure

The righteous will say,

No closure for the wicked

No rest for the hordes

Rail on for justice,

For resolution’s balance

For a sign of peace

Dove’s wings are tangled

Within the hawk’s taloned fists

Your closure, his claws

I began writing about one kind of closure, but my words wandered into a different place.

Peace, people.

Empty Promises

Clouds gathered today

Promised rain, then they scattered

Vandals on the lam

Gardeners’ hopes dashed

As wisteria wilted

And daisies declined

No apology

From the clearing azure sky

Only empty vows

(All photos found on Pinterest.)

River Bed

These slippery stones

One, overturned, upended

Victim of the rush

Unimpeded stream

Gallivanting riverward

Leaves casualties

Whoever names them

Will placate the roiling rocks

Calm the water’s roar

Slide

I think, she intoned,

We’re teetering on the brink

Of being extinct

Everywhere we see

Stupidity and greed,

A critical world

Wars of distraction

Governmental inaction

How far will we slide?

Reservations

Discarded baby

Doll’s kewpie mouth serenely

Smiles while cars drive by

Note: I was driving down the busy interstate yesterday and noticed a vintage style doll sprawled carelessly on the shoulder of the road. No other detritus surrounded the discarded doll. Weird, right? I’d have gone back to retrieve her, but I-10 isn’t all that conducive to stopping.

Blooming

Spring flowers arranged

In an old-fashioned pitcher

Loves me, loves me not

Slender stems bow down

Sweetly worshipful poses

Awaiting sun’s kiss

Petals touched with light

A gentle benediction

Rise, and sin no more

Masked

Just one thing held true

The public mask never slipped

Safely kept secret

Those closest few knew

The black rage lurking beneath

Clenched knuckles foretold

A word, a cold look

Triggered stark brutality

Hidden by a smile

Catching Autumn

Hand outstretched, waiting

One orange leaf wafting down

Crisp cascade follows

Spread wide your fine nets

Fingers splayed, arms extended

Raking the glory

Try catching autumn

Crunch and crackle, red and gold

Store Fall if you can

Gutsy Potion

Don’t be skittish, dear

Brewing potions takes some guts

Among other things

“The Witches Brew” by Adrian Higgins

(“The Witches Brew” by Adrian Higgins)

Tongue of toad, fileted

Eyes of newt, plucked one by one

Rattle of snake, sliced

“Witch’s Brew” by Angus McBride

(“Witch’s Brew” by Angus McBride)

Stir in spider eggs

Black widow for best results

Simmer, chant, enjoy.