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HAIKU LIGHT


Lantern©Ray Rasmussen



(December 2001 Edition)
 

JOANN KLONTZ:
 
 

snug in his lawn chair
a set of single sheets
flutters on the line
 

November birthdays
the New Jersey turnpike
is younger than me
 

stubbled fields –
their scarecrow tucked
in the crook of a tree


 

FERRIS GILLI:
 
 

heat . . .
between sighs, the squeak
of corn growing

business lunch
he idly rubs a bruise
on the apple

prayers for a friend
the autumn butterfly clings
to my fingertip


 

RICHARD STEVENSON:
 
 

Japanese garden –
my son places a stone
to divide the stream
 

no rolling waves –
no wind in the wheat
but a dry whisper
 

long shadows –
crow with broken wing
keeps its distance


 

CAROLYN HALL:
 
 

in the wake
of the Ellis Island ferry
hungry gulls
 

restless night
the morning starts
without me
 

daguerreotypes
searching for my child’s frown
in those stern faces


 

MICHAEL TODD:
 
 

nothing to declare
father's ashes
in the carry-on bag

his ashes
the feeling of
finding a nail
 

unseen birds crying
we shake father's ashes
into the river


 

DARJA KOCJANCIC:
 
 

withered grasses
at the hilltop
the sky begins
 

the spider swings
on a window
- november rain


 

KIRSTY KARKOW:
 
 

cold snap—
the smell of mothballs
on my flannels 
 

misty morning
slow steps even slower
in web-strewn grass
 

calm morning
a kayak adrift
in clouds 

JOHN WISDOM:
 
 

moonlit pier –
the sparkle of fish scales
on calloused hands

nearly dusk –
the zigzag flight 
of linked dragonflies

glassy pond –
a new ringlet
with each rain drop


 

RADE DACIC:
 
 

Autumn rain
I set off in search
of brightness 
 

Thawing me
love words
written on ice
 

Fields
in blossom 
I give away my poem 


 

KATHY LIPPARD COBB:
 
 

a flash of sun 
between storm clouds—
church bells
 

first sunrise—
a bag lady sifts
through the trash
 

grandma's kitchen— 
the smell of apple pie
and linament


 

LEROY GORMAN:
 
 

in parasol shade
we salt green apples
have we been married so long
 

the burned-out barn
rain goes into cracks
to freeze
 

papers to fill out
he never needed paper
to start a fire


 

AYAZ DARL NIELSEN:
 

tree farm
  unsold aspen
    shed their leaves
 
 

the sound of
  my new leather jacket
    as I breathe
 
 

the hermit
   playing chess
         by internet


 

LARRY KIMMEL:
 
 

windy night
at a distance the warmth
of a neighbor's porch light
 
 

through a haze
of leaflets--the ugliest gargoyle
               ever
 
 

where the small lake
leaks away . . .
      a tea-dark gurgle


 

MARIA STEYN:
 
 

Thanksgiving –
the weaver pulls
her nest apart

(by Maria & 
Tumi Kathryn [aged 10] Steyn)
 
 

memories . . .
a blue dragonfly flits
past the window
 
 

light drizzle
four mousebirds tip
a bamboo shoot


 

JEANNE JORGENSON:
 
 

the odour of sweat
mixed with grain dust
coffee break
 
 

inmates paid
to replace railroad ties
no one runs
 
 

up to his ears
in soft, white snow
jackrabbit


 

ELAINE (LANA) HOLMES:
 
 

autumn frost
windfall apples
glisten
 
 

city children
bobbing red apples
grandmother's washtub
 
 

pale beneath a winter sky
                  robin eggs


 

CINDY TEBO:
 
 

cotton fields 
the only white left 
is the snow 
 
 

end of the chain 
an angel's dance 
with the ceiling fan 
 
 

useless map 
it doesn't tell us anything 
about the fog 


 

WINONA BAKER:
 
 

a fine September –
even yellow jackets  drunk
on late blackberries 
 
 

first dream— alive
he runs in circles barking
through the falling snow 
 
 

abandoned farm
the broken birdhouse
fills with snow 

ELIZABETH ST JACQUES:
 
 

still soft and white
mom's old letter 
on birch bark
 
 

cold December
our jolly trashman
all in red
 
 

this year’s first bill:
his swiftness in taking down
25000 lights


 
 

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