Urban Haiku
The following poems are all on the theme of “urban” haiku—in no particular order, and including some senryu. They have all been published in various journals and anthologies. To read more about my approach to haiku, please visit Becoming a Haiku Poet.
Photo by Kev Ryan, from a haiku wall displayed at the London Matsuri Japanese cultural festival at Spitalfields, London, England, on 18 September 2010.
the siren stops
at the draped body—
hopscotch markings
spring breeze—
the pull of her hand
as we near the pet store +
clicking off the late movie . . .
the couch cushion
reinflates
you squeeze my hand . . .
how still the sky
after fireworks
distant car horn—
in the empty studio
the faceless portrait
hospital waiting room—
the drinking fountain
stops humming
a bitter loss—
college football players
without any necks
toll booth lit for Christmas—
from my hand to hers
warm change +
dense fog—
I write your name
on the airport window
the street-corner preacher
points the way
with his Bible
express checkout
the fat woman counts
the thin man’s items
short day—
the manhole cover’s
misaligned stripe
singles bar
everyone coupled +
but me
sunbreak—
the dry spot
on the shopping cart seat
drifting cherry petals . . .
a window goes up
in the passing limousine
foggy night—
sparks from a tossed cigarette
scatter on the freeway
deserted park hail on the chessboard
spring sun—
at the top of the roller coaster
she says yes
frost on the pampas grass—
the man at the bus stop
sways back and forth
after the verdict
the arsonist
lights up
December flurries—
in the airplane magazine
a half-finished crossword
rising gas prices—
the attendant changing numbers
in a pouring rain
the waiter interrupts
our argument on abortion—
a choice of teas
ringing church bell—
moonlight dimmed
by a gentle snowfall
first snow . . .
the children’s hangers
clatter in the closet
grocery shopping—
pushing my cart faster
through feminine protection +
drapes drawn—
just the edges done
on the daffodil puzzle
warm winter evening—
the chairs askew
after the poetry reading
autumn morning—
old neighbours
trimming the hedge
tourists talking
in several languages—
the glassblower exhales
bookmobile day—
huckleberries bloom
along the white picket fence
starry starry night—
unfinished art school paintings
in the dumpster
at his favourite deli,
the bald man finds a hair
in his soup +
record high—
this heat
even in my toothpaste
Valentine’s Day—
she reminds me
winter wind—
kite string tangled
in the garden trellis
gridlock
on the freeway—
the skywriting drifts
a lull in her hands—
the hairstylist asks
how I part my hair
soaked by the rain
the umbrella man
sold out
first cold night—
the click of your domino
as we play by the fire +
cats in love—
the blinds split apart
in the neighbour’s window
scattered petals . . .
the thud of my books
in the book drop +
snow-swept crossing—
the shudder
through freight cars
snow on the landing—
the prints
of the old woman’s walker
jaywalkingthedog
pale moonlight—
a snow-covered swing
twists in the wind
a table for one—
leaves rustle
in the inner courtyard
an old woolen sweater
taken yarn by yarn
from the snowbank
upturned grocery cart—
one wheel spinning
in the current
first cold night—
smell of hot dust
from the vent
home from work—
a scuffed baseball
among shards of glass