Friday, March 9, 2018


Daily Haiga

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

Haiku: winter

an icy blue sky
clear to the horizon
my calendar empty 

heavy snow
we watch old movies
in black and white

bus stop
the winter dance
of cold feet

Modern Haiku
Heron’s Nest

Friday, February 2, 2018

Haibun: Center Stage

I’m shy,  a little overweight and wear glasses.  I’m eleven years old.  I’m smart, but I don’t raise my hand in class.  I don’t volunteer to read aloud.  I don’t want to be included in a school play, even as the narrator reading from a script.  I’m not like my older sister who relishes being center stage.  When appointed to be the narrator, I’m too scared to object. I practice reading the lines at home, again and again.  My sister is my audience.  Rehearsals go smoothly; there’s only the teacher and the other kids in the play.  On the day of the show, there’s lots of encouragement from the teacher and big sis, but now there is an audience.

“You have to do it,” my sister says

“You do it,” I say.  I give her the script and go sit in the back of the auditorium. 

She does it beautifully, not merely reading the narrative, but reciting it from memory.

spring snowfall
daffodil buds delayed
another day
One Hundred Gourds, March 2012

Sunday, January 28, 2018

Wednesday, December 27, 2017


cave echoes
my mistakes
come rushing back

receding tide
in the rocks
part of each wave

Frogpond, 2014
HSA Anthology 2015

Friday, December 15, 2017


                                       FERN GLEN 

We park in the nature preserve near a path that leads downward. On our left is a pond edged with water lilies and lotus blossoms. Along the outer edge grow reeds and bulrushes.  A familiar sound causes us to turn towards it.

                               an ancient poem–
                               a pond, a frog, a splash
                               widening ripples
                               continue through the ages
                               a beginning with no end

A rustle in the reeds attracts our attention again. This time, it’s a painted turtle with a shell about six inches long, moving slowly toward the pond. After watching it quietly slide into the water, we begin our descent. The dirt path is rutted and peppered with loose stones.

                                 slow and steady
                                 helping each other
                                 to keep our balance;
                                 through long years of marriage
                                 there is still a garden

Low growing plants fill in the spaces between mature trees, the green enlivened by occasional clusters of small pink or white blossoms.  At the end of our descent is a thick growth of ferns in various sizes and species, from a single shoot of only a few inches to others two and three feet high and just as wide across.   

We’re the only ones here, but others have come before us. 

                                  a hidden Eden
                                  the songs of a coursing spring
                                  the chirring of birds
                                  a bench for the weary
                                  a place for body and soul

Haibun Today
Tanka Prose,
Dec. 2017

Sunday, December 3, 2017


a quick flowing stream
in late afternoon
the hurried shadows

full moon
on my neighbor's porch
a new light

growing in abundance
a new restlessness

Presence 2015
Daily Haiku 2011
One Hundred Gourds 2012