Blue-and-white striped tug, Black tires nailed to painted hull, Frothy wake behind. Tide out, river calm. Dots of seagulls, rolling waves, Sentinel pilings. Cormorant pops up, Looks left, right, nothing to see, Arcs and dives again.
Tag Archive for haiku
Forty-seventh Saturday
Forty-fifth Saturday
Flaw in heavy clouds. Sun pours through, hits long ridge top. Buildings all light up. River flat and calm. Fallen yellow leaves drift past Two ducks breakfasting. Cormorant takes off, Flaps low over water's glass To fresh fishing ground.
Forty-fourth Saturday, from Indianapolis, four days late
War memorial. Hidden inside cannon's mouth Sparrow peeks from nest. Cascading water Splashes into blue-tiled pool Darkening pale stone. Green leaves yellowing. Tiny lights wrapping brown bark. Wind is soft, but cold.
Forty-second Saturday
Gull turns head, looks back,
Sits like floating crescent moon,
White on blue water.
Bright sun, chill north wind.
First time in this waning year
Jacket feels too light.
River’s sharp ripples,
Helicopter’s rattling thrum,
Shaking, fraying leaves.
Forty-first Saturday, from Raleigh, NC, one week late*
Sweep of brown oak leaves
Rustling along red walkway
Past black café chairs.
Apple muffin crumbs.
Small brown birds hop hopefully.
Steam rises from tea.
Sun bounces off glass.
Brick-paved plaza’s split in two —
Light here, shadow there.
*because I only just located them, that’s why
Fortieth Saturday
Young grackle’s sweet call
Rises over traffic’s whoosh.
Another answers.
Runners get respite.
Rain abates, fades to thick mist.
Sneakers splash on stone.
Bedraggled pigeon.
Calm in storm, no time to groom.
Eat now, preen later.
Thirty-first Saturday, from Rancho Obsesso
Hatchlings fledged and flown.
Early summer’s bird riot
Calmed to indolence.
White slash of sailboat
Rocking over wrinkled sea
Under rounded clouds.
Orange trumpet vine
Tangled in green foliage
Against brown shingles.
Twenty-ninth Saturday, from Assisi
Tile roofs’ corduroy
Soft with spots of olive moss,
Spiky with dried grass.
Sun slides above hill.
In valley, sudden shadows
On newly bright fields.
On pine tree’s bent tip
Mourning dove lights, balances,
Calls, waits, calls again.
Missing the haiku?
With everything that’s been going on I’ve had to declare a haiku hiatus. Mostly just so I could use the phrase. It’s kind of great, right, haiku hiatus? No, really, the haiku will be back, possibly as early as this Saturday. But I hate to leave you haiku-less, and luckily McSweeney’s has stepped up to the plate.
Here you go: the SCOTUS marriage decision, in haiku.