Showing posts with label haiku. Show all posts
Showing posts with label haiku. Show all posts

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Seventeen syllables, No. 79

Living just for the
Moment, apparently, is
Harder than it seems.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Seventeen syllables, No. 78

Buzzing near my ear--
I awake, see the mirror--
Same face, new haircut.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Seventeen syllables, No. 77

Ramen noodle house--
Where Japanese pleasantries
Are shouted like slurs.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Seventeen syllables, No. 76

Please re-rack those clothes
After you tire yourself out
From lifting these weights.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Seventeen syllables, No. 75

Ocean, your wrinkles
Look smaller from here; that's why
Sun visits nightly.

Seventeen syllables, No. 74

A myriad cotton
Clouds stampede serenely past
Me at Seat 2A.

Monday, June 16, 2008

Seventeen syllables, No. 73

Six feet of cotton
Plus my ten fingers equal
A string butterfly.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Seventeen syllables, No. 72

The rain remembers
A song, perhaps, and taps the
Beats on my windshield.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Seventeen syllables, No. 71

The plastic wrapper
Crunches in my hand, but the
Rice cracker's long gone.

Seventeen syllables, No. 70

That is not the wind:
Wind can't make concrete walls sway
Like breeze-blown curtains.

Friday, May 9, 2008

Seventeen syllables, No. 69

Clicks to my thumb say
That the camera is now
Both empty and full.

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Seventeen syllables, No. 68

I smell the droplets
Threatening to rain down like
The words to new songs.

Monday, April 28, 2008

Seventeen syllables, No. 67

Morning news flutters
Into my unfurling head:
Black news, radio wings.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Seventeen syllables, No. 66

The cloud-wrapped Moon looks
Like the sound my bedroom makes
When I fall asleep.

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Seventeen syllables, No. 65

Artificially
Quick winds blow my hair when I
Roll my windows down.

Seventeen syllables, No. 64

Somewhere behind these
Yellowed pages, the almost
Forgotten songs wait.

Seventeen syllables, No. 63

It's just as if the
Skater outside grinds on the
Pavement of my ears.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Seventeen syllables, No. 62

If you were a boat,
I would rather be your sail
Than be your anchor.

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

Seventeen syllables, No. 61

Your facemask balloons
As you laugh—I forget the
Metal in my mouth.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Seventeen syllables, No. 60

The cool breeze, like a
Guitarist, strums on quiet
Waves, playing splash-chords.