tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3758601537677432382024-02-08T11:13:07.964-05:00FourthPersonPluralHaving a word with the world.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16975505944841576542noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-375860153767743238.post-22875382621196863742012-11-07T13:36:00.001-05:002012-11-07T13:39:03.887-05:00Haiku first snow--<br />
sunken jack o' lanterns saying<br />
nothing at allAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16975505944841576542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-375860153767743238.post-44153707790964472262012-09-19T21:44:00.001-04:002012-09-19T21:44:32.989-04:00tanka Is it anything more,<br /> than a shepherd dog hanging<br /> from a car door window?<br /> Another August kissed<div>
by September.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16975505944841576542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-375860153767743238.post-8331360216380158172012-09-19T15:02:00.005-04:002012-09-19T15:05:21.443-04:00haiku cloud cover—<br />
a golden bumblebee<br />
slightly less soAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16975505944841576542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-375860153767743238.post-39798623862524715002012-09-19T15:01:00.001-04:002012-09-19T15:03:42.925-04:00haiku evening meditation the longest plant shadow snapping at the stemAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16975505944841576542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-375860153767743238.post-10597911803357363022012-09-14T14:53:00.000-04:002012-09-19T15:08:16.428-04:00haiku the passing night—<br />
my memories<br />
where clouds once wereAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16975505944841576542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-375860153767743238.post-24119364315565871132012-09-06T14:33:00.000-04:002012-09-19T14:35:10.583-04:00haiku end of meditation—<br />
a centipede<br />
skedaddlesAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16975505944841576542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-375860153767743238.post-13516110893660321262011-08-03T12:12:00.000-04:002012-09-19T14:00:59.688-04:00haiku<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; "> clouds under the stars one of us must be moving</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16975505944841576542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-375860153767743238.post-2532378875683825172011-07-07T13:55:00.000-04:002012-09-19T14:51:38.096-04:00haiku Emancipation Day— <br />
a majority of tree seeds glide<br />
through the rusted fenceAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16975505944841576542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-375860153767743238.post-141084460872347812011-07-07T12:32:00.000-04:002012-09-19T13:58:33.665-04:00haiku<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.316667556762695px;"> wounded clouds at sunset underneath everything a light</span>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16975505944841576542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-375860153767743238.post-53696134954000602622011-04-22T12:30:00.000-04:002012-09-19T13:58:48.421-04:00tanka<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 12px;"> Walking home, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 12px;"> a flustered heart for what</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 12px;"> I feel I have to change;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 12px;"> busted by an April wind</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 12px;"> slapping down upon it all.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16975505944841576542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-375860153767743238.post-43663424481207203722007-09-30T15:25:00.000-04:002012-09-19T15:28:10.669-04:00Series: Some of my Time (Given to the Wind)<br />
Far Brooklyn moon,<br />couched in all our dirt,<br />tell it again<br />how there never was<br />any path for me to lose.<br /><br />
pursuing friends— <br /> a banana peel swaddling<br />
the sidewalk tree<br />
<br />April showers—<br />a fjord of rain water<br />guts the subway track<br /><br />
One by one,<br />
I dismantle those<br />
I've yet to even touch.<br />
Always again<br />
these prayer beads grow loose. <br />
<br />
day moon—<br />jazz drum from<br />the academy window<br /><br />
late evening train—<br />
a theatre student<br />
explaining herself<br />
<br />Dismiss always<br />the need for anyone;<br />until then<br />at the city rim<br />lights pushing lights.<br /><br />
scything away<br />
from light polution—<br />
the rising half of moon<br />
<br />morning after rain—<br />a capsized june bug<br />in the flower box<br /><br /> Because of distance,<br />
I but drift about you always<br />
from all sides;<br />
a Pyrrhic victory: to assign time<br />
for beautiful things.<br />
<br />summer roof meditation—<br />a beer can trolling<br />in the darkness<br /><br />
shaky subway car—<br />
everyone nodding<br />
to my headphones<br />
<br />A phoenix bird for each of us<br />these two falling stars,<br />boring holes<br />through New York night<br />and the coming unknown.<br /><br />
warmest evening wind—<br />
a slow murmur populates<br />
my earbuds<br />
<br />nowhere burning<br />a retna stain—<br />the moon chopped in two<br /><br /> Our electric storm,<br />
a lightning rose sprayed<br />
from empty sky;<br />
on the hindmost plane<br />
there is nowhere to run.<br />
<br />city bus prophesy—<br />"wait for light<br />then open door"<br /><br />
greasy business—<br />
a majong match<br />
in the auto yard<br />
<br />Suppose it's alright<br />to be more than okay;<br />far off,<br />six fingers of sun fishing<br />through nimbus cloud.<br /><br />
evening train—<br />
the silver hand rail becomes<br />
her silver balloon<br />
<br />
summer's end—<br />rooftop pipe steam<br />given to the wind<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16975505944841576542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-375860153767743238.post-18907564753964682082007-02-05T21:33:00.000-05:002012-09-19T21:36:37.698-04:00Series: In New York<br />
<i>for Sophia</i><br />
<br />
grey winter noon— <br />
from inside his moving truck<br />
faint church bells<br />
<br />
overcast bus trip—<br />
he rubs her neck<br />
from across the aisle<br />
<br />
in the looseness<br />
of this window—<br />
a shakier us<br />
<br />
The double world<br />
of means to me<br />
and means to you;<br />
webs of snowdrop tangle<br />
past the bus window.<br />
<br />
local sushi bar—<br />
he figures the Japanese<br />
of a wall-hung haiku<br />
<br />
all that's left<br />
in the prize machine—<br />
an empty pack of smokes<br />
<br />
heating-up car—<br />
the radio marquee<br />
advertises for itself<br />
<br />
run-down minimart—<br />
beer flags writhing<br />
with it all<br />
<br />
Surely,<br />
what moves beneath<br />
works to favor hope;<br />
for one year's time<br />
I have slept alone.<br />
<br />
uptown dining—<br />
double the price<br />
for nothing<br />
<br />
midtown thrift shop—<br />
my only pick of shoes<br />
on a customer's feet<br />
<br />
Chinese supermarket—<br />
my spring water spills<br />
onto leaking water<br />
<br />
ground zero—<br />
'post no bills' by<br />
the building to be<br />
<br />
The closer I come,<br />
the farther it crawls<br />
inside to die;<br />
from behind, a man<br />
barking his own 9/11.<br />
<br />
beneath the el—<br />
Arab music blaring<br />
through a sunroof<br />
<br />
midnight express—<br />
two teens brag<br />
about fighting a cop<br />
<br />
late to the Met—<br />
we've only time<br />
for a short snack<br />
<br />
completing<br />
Central Park in seconds—<br />
a bug on the map<br />
<br />
Dare say I carry my bones<br />
so far from home...<br />
how many moments<br />
could I put between<br />
the el and this moon?<br />
<br />
taming the bull—<br />
her perfect dismount<br />
to Wall Street<br />
<br />
Blood Alley—<br />
above, a metal ladder<br />
withdraws*<br />
<br />
sardine can subway—<br />
an old head tells how<br />
it used to be<br />
<br />
midwinter's noon—<br />
a pale leaf crosses<br />
the intersection<br />
<br />
What but raindrops<br />
do I have to offer<br />
in lended hand?<br />
The uptown winter breeze<br />
forgets me where I stand.<br />
<br />
Manhattan sunset—<br />
'everything hurts' tagged<br />
on the pharmacy wall<br />
<br />
leaving Manhattan—<br />
clustered pigeons circling<br />
a steel crane<br />
<br />
Long ago<br />
I kept a dream, of pushing<br />
through the past;<br />
plastered to the window,<br />
a eucharist of moon.<br />
<br />
early evening depot—<br />
loose caution tape<br />
trembling on the ground<br />
<br />
*Blood Alley is a small, curved backstreet in Chinatown where supposedly the old tongs, or gangs, would bring victims to be killed.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16975505944841576542noreply@blogger.com0