A Miscellany

a bitter loss—

college football players

without any necks

             (written 2002, published 2007)

a boat in the bay

slipped from its mooring—

endless rain

             (written 2014, published 2021)

a borrowed phone book—

fast-food burger joint

out of high chairs

             (written 1993, published 2017)

a box from granny’s attic—

“string too short

to be saved”

             (written 1990, published 1991)

a box full of buttons

the constellations

of memory

             (written 2009, published 2009; see “Galactiku: Introduction to Seeing Stars”)

a busy signal . . .

tossing the coin

in the well

             (written 1989, published 1990)

a cappella hymn—

a few snowflakes fall

into dad’s grave

             (written 2014, published 2021)

a carpenter ant

struggling in its frass—

dappled sunlight

             (written 2011, published 2013)

accumulating snow—

oven mitts

praying on the counter

             (written 2003, published 2005; see “My Neighbor”)

a change of tides—

the rowboat aground

in a different place

             (written 2011, published 2013; see “From No Longer Strangers”)

a chime of bells

across the snowy field—

           the horse’s breath

             (written 1992, published 1995)

a country song booming

from the ice-rink rafters—

church elders holding hands

             (written 1996, published 2008)

a crab apple

from the highest branch

rattles down the rain spout

             (written 1990, published 1993; see “A Gnat in Amber” renku, “From Haiku World,” and “From Raku Teapot Haiku”)

a crying ghost—

halloween loot bag

burst on the sidewalk

             (written 1992, published 1994; see “My Poems in Haiku Society of America Anthologies”)

a deer in the mist . . .

the forest light

at Seabeck

             (written 2019, published 2021)

a deer

            stiffens

                          hikers

             (written 1990, published 1993)

a delicate rain—

the photo of the body

passed from hand to hand

             (written 2011, published 2011)

a distant sax—

the artist’s brush

pinched to a point

             (written 1992, published 1993; see “One by One” linked verse)

a fall of autumn leaves—

      the record skips

      the record skips

             (written 1991, published 1994)

a favourite website

rejects my password . . .

snow on distant peaks

             (written 2012, published 2012)

a few pines

tagged with ribbons . . .

winter stillness

             (written 1999, published 2001; see “From Waverley Writers”)

a fire station

with its doors open—

summer drizzle

             (written 2013, published 2021)

a floating Frisbee—

the river widens

as it nears the sea

             (written 1992, published 2018; see “Michael Dylan Welch’s Frisbee” commentary)

after divorce,

the plant she left

grows on me

             (written 1992, published 1993; see “From Fig Newtons: Senryu to Go”)

after hopscotch—

“hey, let’s go home

and watch the war”

             (written 1991, published 1991)

aftershock

empty swings

swaying

             (written 1989, published 1990; see “Tremors”)

after the cremation

       a tricycle

       covered with snow

             (written 1991, published 1993)

after the haiku conference,

my new friend’s name badge

in the trash

             (written 2001, published 2003)

after the movie,

the dry patches

in the parking lot

             (written 1991, published 1995)

after the popsicle     the popsicle stick

             (written 2017, published 2020; see “My Poems in The Heron’s Nest”)

after the puppet show the puppets

             (written 2011, published 2013)

after the verdict

the arsonist

lights up

             (written 1990, published 1991; see “From Fig Newtons: Senryu to Go” and “From Senryu Therapy”)

a hand sticking out

from the balcony below . . .

small rain

             (written 2012, published 2015; see “Close to the Wind”)

a hearse

up from the valley

wet with blossoms

             (written 2013, published 2016; see “From Off the Beaten Track: A Year in Haiku”)

all that’s left

of the beaver dam—

the lake named after it

             (written 2014, published 2019; see “Sammamish Haiku”)

all that’s left

of the old logging road

the sparrow’s song

             (written 2006, published 2007; see “Haiga with Gary Lebel”)

a loneliness

I can’t explain—

cherry blossoms in the rain

             (written 2014, published 2022)

ambulance siren—

a lemonade stand

in gentle rain

             (written 2020, published 2021)

ammuammuammunition

             (written 1995, published 2022)

an ant in the shadow of the pebble I kicked

             (written 1995, published 2007)

an empty boat

tied to the dock—

divorce pending

             (written 2011, published 2013)

an encore

at the jazz concert . . .

starry night

             (written 2017, published 2021)

an old fiddle case

takes my coins

and the rain

             (written 1992, published 1994)

antique shop—

my child asks about

the two Germanies

             (written 2012, published 2013)

an urn in my lap—

the seaplane descends

from snow into rain

             (written 2011, published 2011)

a pack on my back

and time on my hands . . .

canyon wren

             (written 2019, published 2021)

a pair of toddlers

enlarge the puddle—

beginning of spring

             (written 2019, published 2020)

a pause in the rain—

   she asks to see

my lifeline

             (written 2016, published 2017)

a perfect snowflake

for a moment

on your tongue

             (written 1992, published 1993)

a postcard from afar—

peach cobbler

fresh from the oven

             (written 2014, published 2024)

apples picked

and the casket chosen—

lingering sunset

             (written 2000, published 2004)

a red mark

on her test paper . . .

Indian summer

             (written 2013, published 2021; see “My Poems in Haiku Society of America Anthologies”)

a ring of snow

on the flowerpot—

divorce pending

             (written 2014, published 2023)

a robin’s song     the next hospital bed now empty

             (written 1995, published 1998)

around we go

down the lighthouse stairs . . .

summer’s end

             (written 2010, published 2016)

arriving home—

pine needles in the wiper

from Asilomar

             (written 1991, published 1992)

a show of hands

in the jury room . . .

winter light

             (written 2011, published 2011; see “Standing Still” and “From The San Francisco Haiku Anthology, Volume Two”)

a siren wails—

you reach for my hand

and hold it

             (written 1995, published 2002)

a stack of wood

by the fire circle—

moonlight in each ring

             (written 1993, published 1998)

a stranger’s smile

follows me all the way

down the dark street

             (written 2010, published 2017)

a table for one—

   leaves rustle

in the inner courtyard

             (written 1995, published 1998; see “From The Road: World Haiku” with Bulgarian translations)

at my poetry reading

my wife claps

a little too long

             (written 2014, published 2020)

at Seabeck

hearing the dinner bell

I long for Seabeck

             (written 2019, published 2020)

at the dock’s end

the green water takes the tricycle

and the toddler

             (written 1992/1993, published 1995)

at the reception

to open the haiku conference

small talk

             (written 2011, published 2015)

automated sales call

on hold

              at both ends

             (written 1990, published 1991)

awaiting the test results—

rings on the pond

from falling leaves

             (written 2001, published 2004)

a wide spot

on the mountain trail . . .

sunflower seeds

             (written 2013, published 2022)

a withered apple

caught in an old spine rake

. . . blossoms fall

             (written 1992, published 1994)

a withered cocoon

in the notch of a poplar

—cemetery stillness

             (written 1993, published 1994; first prize winner of the 1994 Western World Haiku Society contest)