In the moonlight,

The color and scent of the wisteria

Seems far away.

Oh, Monday Morning
The coffee is not ready
Spoiling the whole week.

.
.
.
Frozen autumn doe
Feigns invisibility.
Inhales my presence.
.
.
.
Its title was a haiku, but nowhere near as good as the haiku itself, so they left it off.
.
.
.
Under Surveillance
While Tending a Remote Field
of Marijuana.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
My only erotic haiku:
.
.
.
Auto-Erotaiku
.
Oyster moist and warm
Raw ocean's movement pulses.
Pearl glows with pleasure.
.
.
.
.

Kudos!

But it came to mind with your last haiku...

In its hidden beauty
like a soul, does the pearl know
that its softness and luster
was engendered by pain?

But who is worthy of hidden joy
but he who knows
how to engender tender and lustrous
a pearl from his own pain?

- Adoration
Leopoldo Lugones (1874 - 1938)


En su hermosura escondida
Como un alma, ¿acaso sabe
La perla nítida y suave,
Que es engendro de la herida?

Mas, de la dicha escondida
Sólo es digno aquél que sabe
Engendrar, nítida y suave,
Una perla de su herida.

Three lines that don't rhyme
first and third five syllables
second line seven

Random thoughts abound.
Especially on Haikus.
this for example.

Once upon a time,
I wrote a little haiku.
but that's over now.

That sounds like Baldrik's
magnificent octopus
about sausages.

"Three Brazilians died."
"Dreadful," said the President.
"How many is that?"

Bahn Mi for dinner?
No, let's go out for Chinese.
Whatever. I'm starved.

I realize that's not exactly keeping in the spirit of Haiku, but I'm really hungry.

What's wrong with Bahn Mi?
other than waiting in line
in freezing weather?

Film at eleven
Snowstorm envelopes Northeast
I'm glad it's not us.

Blossoms unfurling,
tree branches tipped with chartreuse,
inspire birds to sing.

There you go. A nature one.

To early for Spring.
We still have six weeks to go.
Just ask the groundhog.

Outside, the wind howls.
A girl dreams of the sunshine.
Waiting and hoping.

Blue Hills, early Spring
golden morn melts glassy ice
that cracks underfoot

my breath makes a cloud
that follows to the summit
to watch the daybreak

startled white tailed deer
caught in the open, eating,
leap across my path.

Down by the water,
Boston glows in the sunlight
not ready to wake.

Sat Mar 24th 2007, 11:36 AM

Truly lovely.

Thank you.

Thank you for reading them.

My response was an acknowledgment of how evocative yours was.

Sometimes I forget to give direct recognition.

Thank you.

I've been reading your journal.

I particularly liked the Father's Day entry from 2011, about washing a sarape. People treated it like a comment, but it reads like poetry. It was very touching.

struggled into waders
walked out far into the lake
need to take a piss

Well, proper planning,
prevents piss poor performance.
Or wader pissing.

The Rude Pundit picks them for his end of the Bush Era haiku contest!

Decade of psychopaths
The godly blame democrats.
What short memories.



I'm not a poetry reader but I *have* always liked haikus.