Urban HaikuThe 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 |