A Collection of Haiku
April awakens
Tosses the sheet of winter
Rising with a yawn
Not truly bygone
But I wish I could recall
The things that I know
Forsooth - said the bard
If you ask me no questions
I'll tell you no lies
Barely visible
Where the blue meets feeding air
The flame burns hottest
A bug's fleeting life
Just now made even shorter
Splat! On the windshield
Nothing I have heard
Prepared me for the lyrics
Of the warbler’s song
To A Mockingbird
You uncomely fowl
How boldly you fill the air
With songs of others
In my heart of hearts
All that glisters is not gold
Neither here nor there
On Shakespeare's Birthday
This haiku
is made with well-known phrases from his plays.
At the gate of day
The dog's nose is cold and wet
Eager for the field
Emily Dickinson
She visits briefly
As a honeybee at bloom
Privilege of hawks
To sail superior skies
And see us reduced
Dashing cardinal
A crimson blaze of glamor
Adorns the mesquite
When entirely spring
The San Pedro courses north
Life-stream for migrants
Reveries flicker
Like hummingbirds at blossoms
Then vanish forthwith
A slave to beauty
I'm indentured to forests
Mastered by the trees
Hear the quail's report
From the sheltering thicket
The eggs are moving!
The redoubt of faith
Firmly buttressed with grace
Besieged by questions
I will go ahead
To light a fire in the dusk
So you can find me
The outskirts of town
Cotton fields to the river
Summer bakes their backs
Dance to juke joint blues
Shake what your momma gave ya
Jump jive and boogie
The first daffodils
Conducted by April sun
Raise their trumpet heads
Carve from this something
An instant that might escape
However the day
Of the pathless seas
There's no sextant suitable
For this boundless cruise
It's hard to allow
The universe is empty
But for some huge specks
The choir of birds
Perched in these cathedral trees
Carols of April
All my time is free
It is not to be purchased
Or properly earned
Most of my problems
Look better on a good walk
Not solved, but smaller
Fragility among thorns
Hedgehog cactus blooms
All said, I have learned
It's less about the story
Than how it is told
April 4, 1968
One hateful bullet
Clarion voice assaulted
Still, it reaches us
Fox "News"
The pathetic truth
Credibility is lost
When it fails to lie
How tardy the life
That counts the tramp of minutes
And dreads being late
This the last haiku
From an exhausted writer
On April Fools Day!
