Friday, July 30, 2010

Haiku #321

Sitting outside on a summer evening, I spend time with
Buson. At the edge of the field, two red butterflies.

hard to make them out
through the blur
of reading glasses

Haiku #320

a tiny beetle
walks across Issa's haiku:
"life is cruel, cruel, cruel"

Haiku #319

my journal's blank pages--
dreaming of a murdered deer
two nights in a row

Haiku #318

on a highwire
mourning dove soaked with warm rain
I long for autumn

Haiku #317

mountain overlook:
names carved on a rusty rail
the empty sky

Haiku #316

the long shadows
Ryokan writing poems
in his loneliness

Haiku #315

taken all my life
to enjoy the robin's call
this summer evening

Haiku #314

you only hear them
when the cicadas cease--
evening crickets

Last of July

Summer deepens.
The drone of cicadas--
I can barely think.
A butterfly keeps beating
against the white shed.
The hot evening sun.
Cats hiss at each other
near the food bowl.
The dogs watch the driveway,
awaiting your return.

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Haiku #313

lifting the nozzle
to spray the dogs--
I can't resist

First Fire

Turkey buzzards soar above the field.
Last year I saw them flying south. 
Their bodies looked heavy against the cold sky.
That same day, we brought the first wood
into the house to make a fire.

Haiku #312

sad, unending rain:
two white swans swim together
enjoying themselves

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Haiku #311

sad thoughts
Queen Anne's lace bobbing 
in the rain

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Haiku #310

three a.m.
even the house cricket
is sleeping

Friday, July 16, 2010

Haiku #309

little butterfly
lights on a cat's tattered ear
summer afternoon

Haiku #308

white butterfly:
walking into the birdbath
toward the water



About Me

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Northwest Ohio, United States
"I was no better than dust, yet you cannot replace me. . . Take the soft dust in your hand--does it stir: does it sing? Has it lips and a heart? Does it open its eyes to the sun? Does it run, does it dream, does it burn with a secret, or tremble In terror of death? Or ache with tremendous decisions?. . ." --Conrad Aiken


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Epistle, by Archibald MacLeish

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Fave Painting: Eden

Fave Painting:  Eden

Fave Painting: The Three Ages of Man and Death

Fave Painting:  The Three Ages of Man and Death
by Albrecht Dürer

From the First Chapter

The Secret of Hurricanes : That article in the Waterville Scout said it was Shake- spearean, all that fatalism that guides the Kennedys' lives. The likelihood of untimely death. Recently, another one died in his prime, John-John in an airplane. Not long before that, Bobby's boy. While playing football at high speeds on snow skis. Those Kennedys take some crazy chances. I prefer my own easy ways. Which isn't to say my life hasn't been Shake-spearean. By the time I was sixteen, my life was like the darkened stage at the end of Hamlet or Macbeth. All littered with corpses and treachery.

My Original Artwork: Triptych

My Original Artwork:  Triptych



Little Deer

Little Deer



Looking Forward, Looking Back

Looking Forward, Looking Back