A Few New: Tanka 253, 254

Here are a couple of short poems I wrote today. I feel a bit groggy after my second vaccine shot yesterday and that prompted me to write a couple of poems about the idea of being groggy and dreams and lying on the sofa. Which is something I hardly ever do. Lie on the sofa and doze, I mean.

I hope tomorrow to be back in action. Anyway, here were are for this week.

Gosh, I hope I counted the syllables right.

Tanka 253

In a dull headache
I lie on the gray sofa
I doze. Wake. Doze. Wake.
The promised rain does not fall.
Unrested, I cook dinner.

4/16/21

Tanka 254

Doze on the sofa
Dream the same sequence three times
The repetition
Does not make it real it does
not I tell you it does not.

4/16/21

Haiku 693-696

From Count Syllables on Your Fingers, the collection published in 2020.

Haiku 693

it’s never been blue
the old house at the corner
it never will be

Haiku 694

a cold jealous ghost
browned the pink cherry blossoms
with his frosty breath

Haiku 695

What’s in that suitcase
Mr. Thunderstorm? What strife
have you brought tonight?

Haiku 696

One of you three teeth
aching me hard. Two of you
waiting for your turn.

Haiku 688-692

From Count Syllables on Your Fingers, the collection published in 2020.

These haiku were all written on May 9, 2019.

Haiku 688

furniture polish
crammed behind the s-bend pipe
underneath the sink

Haiku 689

eleven minutes
in the life of a rosebush
could mean anything

Haiku 690

so there’s no upside
to a broken glass except
it did not cut you

Haiku 691

plenty of oatmeal
in the bowl on the table
where you never sat

Haiku 692

crow in a gray sky
above the old part of town
skims the black rooftops

From the Second Page of the Album

From Count Syllables on Your Fingers, the collection published in 2020.

From the Second Page of the Album

All dressed up
especially nice
these high heels
matching purse
stereotype of woman
going to bridge club

circa years
and decades ago.
The photo
is a scream
for help printed on paper.
I’ve arrived too late.

5/9/19
shadorma chain
 

Shadorma 165-168

From Count Syllables on Your Fingers, the collection published in 2020.

Shadorma 165

This sneeze makes
three hundred and one
my best work
yet to come
this cold has just got started.
A tissue please. Quick.

3/14/19

Shadorma 166

Avalanche
it hit the small group
struggling up
the mountain
of the CEO’s ego
Compost flows downhill

3/14/19

 
Shadorma 167

I’ll make it
Please tell him to wait
this old bus
off schedule
due to terminal fatigue
But I’ll get there. Wait.

3/14/19

Shadorma 168

The cheese plate –
or what’s left of it –
a half-slice
of Gruyère
and its rind now of no use
since its job is done?

3/14/19

Shadorma 195, Haiku 698

From Count Syllables on Your Fingers, the collection published in 2020.

Shadorma 195

She studies
physiology
human style
her textbook
proclaims. Her own malfunctions:
Sneeze. Sniff. Sneeze. Sniff. Sneeze.

5/9/19

Haiku 698

vacant night blank sky
one man walks where shadows would
if the moon were home

5/16/19

A few new: Haiku 922, Tanka 251, Tanka 252

Here are three short poems from this week. Our library asked for original poems from patrons on the theme of nature, with participants entered into a raffle and having the option of their poems included with book pickups and on the library’s social media. Of course I could not re

Haiku 922

Little green fingertip
beckoning me. I whisper
Hello, daffodil

3/23/21

Tanka 251

Creeping up the wall
my green caterpillar friend
waves his stubby horns
follows a line of mortar.
Angles off. Says no goodbyes.

3/26/21

Tanka 252

Here is the paper
Here is the pair of scissors
I snip away sky
I clip around the March wind
I cut out a daffodil

3/26/21

Tanka 115, Shadorma 181

From Count Syllables on Your Fingers, the collection published in 2020.

Tanka 115

whispers of white lies
cling to the skirts of the dress
You bought it on sale
believing the flattery
of the dressing room mirror

4/11/19

Shadorma 181

Ice sculpture,
this story you told.
Chip away
the context.
Let the narrative dissolve
in its own good time.

4/11/19

Take Hold

From Count Syllables on Your Fingers, the collection published in 2020.

Take Hold

Endless napes
of bristly necks and
unruly
combovers.
You are knee-deep in buzz cuts.
A topiary

gardener
man-style. So much hair
in the wrong
locations.
Clippers and scissors in hand
you restore order.

4/11/19
shadorma chain

One Chance

From Count Syllables on Your Fingers, the collection published in 2020.

One Chance

Disheveled
shelf-full. Pink papers
stacked in two
messy piles.
Newspapers. Financial Times.
Part of a headline

Lowest since
1969
on the fold
one issue
near the bottom of the stack.
Not tempted. Moved on.

3/21/19
shadorma chain