Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
Autumn Ritual
It's apple picking time. On a weekday morning we drive north, passing through quiet small towns. Kids are in school, and their parents at work. Ours is the only car on the road. Between the towns are woods and fields, not yet sold to a developer.
following our noses
to the apple orchard–
fresh cider at the mill
We take a half-bushel basket at the stand and trek up a hill picking and tasting as we go.
the bargain apples
hiding on the ground
under poison ivy
On top of the hill, a picnic.
after lunch,
watching the yellow jackets
lazy in the sun
Stylus Poetry Journal, November 2002
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
SUMMER NIGHTS
Families on their front porches. Grandma with a paper fan. Grandpa and Dad with cold beers. Mom with hot coffee, regardless of the heat. My sister and I–cream soda, out of the bottle. Wet and slippery in our grimy hands. Sweet and bubbly and cool. One gulp. Then another. Then settling into a slow sipping, making it last until bedtime.
circling moths
under a street lamp
the last game of jacks
Bottle Rockets, Summer 2009
Families on their front porches. Grandma with a paper fan. Grandpa and Dad with cold beers. Mom with hot coffee, regardless of the heat. My sister and I–cream soda, out of the bottle. Wet and slippery in our grimy hands. Sweet and bubbly and cool. One gulp. Then another. Then settling into a slow sipping, making it last until bedtime.
circling moths
under a street lamp
the last game of jacks
Bottle Rockets, Summer 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Summer Haibun
CABIN FEVER
Two weeks of rain. The smell of dampness in our clothes, in the linen closet, in the upholstery. A monotonous beat to the rain. Dull plops on the roof and higher pitched bleeps on the metal drain pipes and gutters. Trees bent over with the added moisture. One branch of the maple, cracked and hanging by its sap. Garden flowers dragging in the mud. The sour odor of wet and rotting vegetation permeates the air.
nowhere to go–
the damp rooms echo
my restlessness
Contemporary Haibun On-line, October 2007
HEAT WAVE
Murky sky, dead air, pizza oven temperature. Perspiration collects on my skin, pooling in crevices. The day stops even before it begins.
curtains stir–
a small breeze lost
at the window
Bottle Rockets, August, 2008
Two weeks of rain. The smell of dampness in our clothes, in the linen closet, in the upholstery. A monotonous beat to the rain. Dull plops on the roof and higher pitched bleeps on the metal drain pipes and gutters. Trees bent over with the added moisture. One branch of the maple, cracked and hanging by its sap. Garden flowers dragging in the mud. The sour odor of wet and rotting vegetation permeates the air.
nowhere to go–
the damp rooms echo
my restlessness
Contemporary Haibun On-line, October 2007
HEAT WAVE
Murky sky, dead air, pizza oven temperature. Perspiration collects on my skin, pooling in crevices. The day stops even before it begins.
curtains stir–
a small breeze lost
at the window
Bottle Rockets, August, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
