haiku village

slanty sun on desk
my pencils are out of line
but words fall in

a chill in the air
where is my saxophone at?
band practice memories

full moon lights the sky
satiny glowing all over
while the clouds play tag

catskill mountain rain
rinsing, and rinsing again
soon I will be clear

There is a corner table at the Café Pick Me Up, made from a sewing machine cabinet. And there’s a little hinged door on the front of that cabinet, for storing bobbins and needles, I suppose. When I sit there, I put a haiku in that compartment, written at that moment on a small piece of paper. I usually never see it again. Sometimes it’s weeks before I’m at that table again.

There is sand in there and bits of grass - how that got in there I wonder. Sometimes there are gum wrappers.
Because no one cleans out the little compartment, when a poem disappears, I imagine someone liked it enough to want to take it with them. That is fine with me. The poem is a gift to whoever wants it.

The other day, I put this one in there:

Horses ride bareback
But they do not have nightmares
‘till they fall asleep

When I checked in the compartment a week or so later, I found two more little poems on the paper I put mine on. Here they are:

Gods & Mowhawks. Coffee
stained souls. All fair
creatures love at destiny’s gate.

Destiny’s sleep finds
Subtitles
Underlining the lying --
Under
One’s slumber, infinite.

I was pretty impressed.

I took those poems and left another. When I returned a few days later, that poem was gone, and another poem of sorts was there in its place:

I FOLLOWED YOU
ALL THE WAY HOME
LAST NIGHT
YOUR SO PRETTY

I never go to the Pick Me Up at night, so I assume this one was meant for someone else, someone who may have eventually found the literature intended for her. I left it in the compartment.

Labels: found poem, haiku, poetry

pristine and clean
garbage truck grinding carries
over gated walls

marigolds in the desert
so very thirsty in bed
pipe the water in

filtered, but still foul
television overspray
from the room next door

white flakes meander
barely heavier than air
old pine creaks beneath

drab summer birdie
flaunts his dusty blue jacket
bright now in a cold world

black specks on the snow
gather and wait for the call
they will hop as one

winter storm comes in
tall buildings disappear
my city gets softer

snow arrives on schedule
travelers fall behind theirs
they crash in the airport

blanket on the town
pajamas on my girlfriend
all is warm tonight

the woods have disrobed
trees prefer their nudity
in the off-season

leaf prints in the rain
part of the concrete sidewalk
now running away

thirsty houseplants watch
through the balcony window
pots filling with rain