Monday, January 1, 2007

Haiku Harvest
Fall & Winter 2005

bamiyan valley
two buddhas weep—
crumbling rock

air conditioner
blowing at my back—
treetops stole my breeze

window blinds closed—
blind man stares
at the moon

the statue
stands through all seasons—
even bird shit

distant thunder
and a dog's cry—
kerouac interrupted

birds chirping
in the summer's heat—
the choir still out of tune

graves side by side—
the poet still writes
of death

in my stomach
the ulcer speaks—
lonely night

sewing room
the thread like a rainbow—
heavy black eyes

morning farm road
caters breakfast to buzzards—
honking at strangers

clouds rolling in—
a fly caught in the storm
of my sneeze

frog floats
in the dog's bowl—
we both jumped

church pews empty—
a hollow cocoon
hangs from a cross

june bugs gather
around backyard lights—
a midnight rave