A blog devoted mainly to haiku and senryu and to thoughts about, and inspired by, haiku and senryu.

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Location: New York, New York

Haiku is to poetry as espresso is to coffee.

Sunday, January 29, 2006

and one to grow on

seventy-three . . .
now what was I going
to say . . .


birthday wish
smoke rising from the candles
just blown out

Thursday, January 26, 2006

wind chimes

winter rain
wind chimes glisten
I recently workshopped this haiku, and one reader, a good friend and a fine poet, questioned "silently" on grounds that the rain isn't silent. I honestly didn't find this objection cogent, and neither did any other participants, as far as I know. But I always pay attention to this person's comments, and I've been thinking. The result is what follows. I consider it an alternate version, perhaps an entirely independent haiku, because I don't intend to scrap the original. But I'd be glad to get responses.
wind chimes glisten
winter rain
the only sound
Jan. 29: And here, a few days later, is another version, suggested to me by Lorin Ford and Jane Reichhold (A friend once said, "Writing haiku means never having to say I'm finished.").
winter rain
wind chimes

Friday, January 20, 2006

two a.m.

two a. m.
a quarrel floats
past my window

Thursday, January 12, 2006


on the sign
at the construction site
a split infinitive

Sunday, January 08, 2006

Just before Nightfall

just before nightfall
winter branches
scribbled on the sky

Friday, January 06, 2006

West Virginia

notes from underground
prayers for the living
from those about to die

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

a few for the season

the year's last morning
a jet climbs
a fading contrail
last day of the year
a hawk finds a path
in the empty sky
new year's morning
facing the question
in the mirror
no shadows
on the unbroken snow
cloudy new year's
Let's make this year a good one.