9 Haiku

The growing approach
of a train I can’t yet see—
distant whisperer

Two women smearing

lotion gossip on the train—
faces, arms and hands

Wary of poop on

the beach I see angel’s feet—
little child’s footprints

*

Under a full moon
shadows of bare branches mesh
on the frosty lawn

Nothing but sky through

the train’s windows as it leans
through a long slow turn

Red cottage under

a giant wall of storm clouds—
a birdless stillness

*

A fluttering ghost

in the darkened train window—
newspaper pages

Three hawks circle slow

in the empty blue above
a scurrying world

 “In any case, the moon”—Jack Kerouac

Blue afternoon moon—

“illuminated clay ball”
bright as any eye!



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Wherever You May Be

Why don’t you blow down south little birdie?
Winter is drawing near
Your brothers and sisters left in a hurry
Nothing is holding you here

It’s the right time … to ride on the wind

Just spread your wings and glide
Take it down south … hitchhike it in
Get off when you arrive
Get off when you arrive

Swimming the wind up over the city

Snug in the breast of the air
The city at night is glittering pretty
Looking much better from there

While you fly high … up in the sky

You’re blessed to be a bird
You got the right to ride ... the wind in the night
Far above the world
Far above the world

It’s lovely to see you do what you need to

God you’ve got such style!
Once you can see it nothing’s a secret
Been waiting right there all the while

And you go so … gentle and sure

Wherever you may be
As if you knew you’ve … been here before
Wherever you may be
Wherever you may be



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20 Haiku

Sudden razzmatazz
at my ear from a stray fly’s
rusty trumpeting

Morning after rain—

a big blank silvery sky
like a movie screen

My head in the bed

glows bald in a dark window—
where it all goes on

*

The sky’s like a child—

full of goofy faces and
slow sudden changes

Rust patch on a yellow pipe cap:

Big buxom woman

blowing her harmonica
under blazing sun

Little white-haired man
limping uphill and pushing
an old bicycle

*

Tattered flag droops from

its pole at the post office,
swishes in the wind

Happy my belly

is purring so warmly all
merry morning long!

Cold clear winter dawn—

downtown buildings with sun fire
glowing on the glass

*

Strands of dry cheese like
broken Chinese characters—
late dinner table

A frog with flowers

exploding out of his head—
courtyard ceramic

Leaves like golden moths

riding a slant in the wind—
old hotel window

*

In silence—as if

without moving I might catch
my runaround life

In bed with the flu,

feeling my life leak away—
drear January

Standing close, two men

smoke and talk in the cold park—
two clouds between them

*

The pink-blushing sky

above a dirty shipyard—
smudge of winter dawn

Crescent moon grins down

as the glowing world begins—
sun climbing the east

Long islands of clouds

with salmon-colored bellies—
peeking cold sunrise

*

Dusk: paused on a path,

staring at the boiling tides—
two men’s silhouettes

Dusk: trio of gulls

huddled on a slick sand patch—
dispersed by the tide



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The Ride

I’ve been ... gliding along on the tide
I’ve been ... thinking my life is a ride

I’ve been ... pushed by the wind through the rain
I’ve been ... feeling it happen again

And it makes me want to say

Hey now brother how

You been getting by?
You been enjoying the ride?

While we’re flying right

Through our time we might
Find that we’ve arrived
On the other side

I fly ... fly like blur down the line

I spend … most of my life in my mind

That’s why I’ve got to say

Hey now brother how

You been getting by?
You been enjoying the ride?

While we’re flying right

Through our lives we might
Find that we’ve arrived
On the other side

I’ve been … gliding along on the tide
I’ve been … thinking my life is a ride



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Flashes 19

Glad
to do
the dishes?

“Poetry is not

a careful thing—
poetry is lamb dust”—Kerouac

Mistaking yourself

for what
inhabits you

*

Another

celebrated
slave of ego

I don’t believe in

karma or telepathy—
I experience them

To arrive

in the world
unwanted

*

To be

welcomed
when you arrive

Handsome

blitherers
in the big parade

Landscapes

littered
with cars

*

The soul
yearns for something
braver

Judgment

is only
self-defense

What

distracts us
from death

*

A habit

of quotidian
courage



.

Now

Clearer
than beer or
a pastis
in Paris
on a bright May
day



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18 Haiku

Little birds pecking
at overhead power lines—
please be careful there!

A bare muddy hill

against a movie-screen sky—
morning after rain

Good-looking woman

surrounded by the results—
kids traipsing to school

*

A laughing seagull
swoops through a still street at dawn—
sky like flaming foil

Clouds like giant leaves,

like cyclones crowding the sky—
like continents!

As seen by Jack Kerouac:

A pregnant woman

rolls a baby carriage past
a cemetery

*

Little girl in pink

crosses the street in the dark—
off to school with mom

The slumbering line

of a dark-hilled horizon
under waking skies

Battling this aging

like a man shaking his fist
at a booming sea

*

She sleeps with crashing

battalions in her head!
Earphoned passenger

Gregory Corso, poet:

Once at summer camp

he kissed the moon glowing in
a barrel of rain

Old age—I see first

leaves fall, then more fall, and then
that’s all I see

*

Burst of orange sparks

flutters like glowing ashes
from a turning train

Silver airplane glints
over solemn blots of clouds—
chilly morning sky

Washing before bed—

and already preparing
tomorrow’s excuse!

*

A bark like a beep—

white puppy in a parked car
calling her keeper

Clouds of seagulls swarm

like…orphans from a beehive!
Dazzling morning sun

Thanks for the red wine,

my friends who just visited—
it tastes good alone



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