HAIKU LIGHT

HAIKU LIGHT

September 2001, page 2

MICHAEL TODD:

my children
fishing in the rain barrel
not one bite

although she's gone
her dolls
still listening

summer wind
tall grass
brushes the moon

H.F. NOYES:

hazy headwaters –
pale green dusk and the willow
blend into one

BARRY GEORGE:

wind in the reeds—
full moon
in the loblolly pine

changing a bike tire—
the kitten watches me
through still spokes

sand painting
the cat steps out
of its litter box

SHELBY K. IRONS:

bare feet
in fresh mud
dancing in the rain

on the roof
a million stars
close enough to touch

LENARD D. MOORE:

home alone—
I listen to a meadowlark
mimicking itself

plowing day—
a pale cloud passes
the tractor

noon sun
a black bug
digs a hole

DRAGAN J. RISTIC:

bouquet of lilies –
in a cellophane prison
a wandering bee

lights out
before the air raid –
bright moon

seller's thundering voice
the redness
of sliced watermelon

KAY GRIMNES:

deserted alley
heavy anger of his fist
against the old brick

hot still night
the endless chirping cricket
of the neighbor's fan

gulls
each body pointed
into the wind

CLAUDIA GRAF:

pond grasses
tips reach out
to watery twins

rainsnakes
wiggling through
window-framed blossom

curled snakeskin
warm from the dirt road
fits in my palm

SVETOMIR DJURBABIC:

A gypsy boy
sharing given bread
with the pigeons

Dark shelter –
I step on
a child's toy

Peacock's tail
in the spring sunshine –
goldsmith's shopwindow

JOHN STEVENSON:

Paul Bunyan –
whole headlines
in the paper-mache

summer camp
my bunkmate
believes in ghosts

in the other room
my brother recites my poems
for laughs

CAROLYN HALL:

asking directions
from strangers –
my home town

clay path
bootprints fill
with orange rain

mammogram waiting room
she rips a page
from a magazine

KIRSTY KARKOW:

blue sky
I almost miss
the morning glory

cat's grave . . .
violet shades of evening
merge into night

still morning
only the sound
of my tinnitus

J. MARCUS WEEKLEY:

diving into the wreck
those winter Sundays:
the wasteland

empty McDonald's bag
I still feel
empty

pulling in the nets
letting baby crabs go

MARTIN MIKELBERG:

l ooking
i nside
l iking
y ourself

B A L N C E
A

s olo
o ne's
u nique
l ight

JOANN KLONTZ:

writing a check
warmth of the counter
where the last patient leaned

signing our wills...
the lawyer's sheep
munch leaves

her eulogy...
he twists each thorn
from a long-stemmed rose

MARIA STEYN:

picking sweetpeas –
a tiny spider swings
from a strand of light

falling leaves . . .
a butterfly flits
over the electric fence

old age home
an African violet blooms
on every windowsill

CARLOS COLÓN:

competing with the priest
a choir
of birdsong

Japanese lanterns
the ticking of
soft rain

farmer pointing the way
with a shotgun

PAUL WATSKY:

dimly lit
brightly iIluminated
The Book of Kells

foggy New Year's –
crows hopping on and off
a sea lion carcass

ELIZABETH ST JACQUES:

the bluebird
in the sky
lost to it

on the wall
meeting its older self
the ivy

pulling its sound
through a tunnel
the midnight train

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