M Miscellany

The following miscellaneous “Haiku from Index Cards” all start with the letter M.

making a wish

on a falling star

no—a satellite

             (written 1990, published 1993; see “From Fig Newtons: Senryu to Go” and “Favorite Haiku: Low Tide and Making a Wish”)

matching the advertisement

in the bullet train

winter view of Fuji

             (written 2014, published 2017)

maternity clothes for sale unused

             (written 2014, published 2022; my take on a famous piece of flash fiction)

mayflies

at the swimming hole—

teenagers skip their skins

             (written 2020, published 2020; after Peggy Willis Lyles)

mine

mine

mine

             (written 2002, published 2003)

memorial service—

the rain lets up

on the stained-glass windows

             (written 2014, published 2022)

MENd

             (written 2018, published 2019)

Mexican cantina—

the waiter says

bon appetite

             (written 1991, published 1993)

Mexican restaurant—

the Japanese visitor

uses a fork

             (written 1992, published 1993; for Tadashi Kondo)

midnight temblor . . .

the tiny lampchain

ticks against the lamp

             (written 2013, published 2021; written about an earthquake I felt in Tokyo)

midwinter thaw—

the scarecrow points the way

with a shriveled radish

             (written 2017, published 2017; see “From Jumble Box”)

migrating geese—

the rancher switches off

his electric fence

             (written 2011, published 2017; see “Don’t Fence Me In” rengay)

mime

jumping

frog

             (written 1990, published 1994; after, and for, Jerry Kilbride)

missed bus . . .

a little more

of the autumn sunset

             (written 2012, published 2014)

missed bus—

someone’s name

in a used paperback

             (written 2002, published 2007)

missing child—

a scoop of rice

ticking into the pot

             (written 2013, published 2021)

mOMent

             (written 2011, published 2013)

moon in the clouds—

the scent of snow

in your letter

             (written 2012, published 2013)

moon in the pines—

the diagnosis

benign

             (written 2016, published 2017)

moon in the window—

the desk lamp’s brass pull cord

still swinging

             (written 1993, published 1994)

moonless night—

rusted hinges

on the slaughterhouse door

             (written 2017, published 2017; see “From Jumble Box”)

moonlit sundial—

gentle ripples

in the fishpond

             (written 2003, published 2017)

moon through the slats—

his rough hand

rocking the cradle

             (written 1994, published 2016)

moss on the path—

you ask me, quietly,

if I have summer plans

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

mostly sunny—

a thank-you card

in today’s mail

             (written 2013, published 2023)

motionless cat

listening to the robin

listening to the lawn

             (written 2020, published 2023; see “Catching the Sky” rengay)

mountain dawn—

the warmth she left

in the outhouse seat

             (written 1993, published 1993)

mountain morning—

all over the red berry bush

snow in tiny heaps

             (written 1994, published 1994; see “Mountain Morning”)

mountain road—

the moonlight slides

across the dashboard

             (written 2011, published 2013; compare with “long curve of the interstate— / the light through my sunroof / crosses the dash,” written in 1999)

mountain road—

the smell of burnt asbestos

from the big-rig

             (written 1992, published 1993)

mountain shadows—

we move our lawn chairs

along with the sun

             (written 1994, published 2001)

moving . . .

our last view

of the family homestead

             (written 2010, published 2018; see “From The Sleepless Planet”)

mowing the grass

    by moonlight

celebrity neighbour

             (written 2002, published 2002)

muddy lakeshore—

       paw print

on the monarch’s wing

             (written 1994, published 2000)

muddy trail—

every now and then

a peanut shell

             (written 2003, published 2016)

mushroom gathering—

remind me, is that aisle six

or aisle seven?

             (written 2001, published 2016)

musky rain—

the circle of petals

under the plum

             (written 2013, published 2017)

Musqueam old growth—

the sea and sky

we share

             (written 2019, published 2019)

musty museum—

an ox hair snagged

in the wooden yoke

             (written 2013, published 2023)

my blue bathrobe

worn at the hook spot—

New Year’s Day

             (written 2015, published 2022)

my hand curves

     to fit your breast . . .

the windowsill, snow-laden

             (written 1993, published 1995)

my hand on your thigh . . .

from the window seat

the curve of the earth

             (written 1990, published 1999)

my lover’s call . . .

the cord wrapped

around my finger

             (written 1993, published 1995; such dated technology!)

my neighbour’s bicycle

locked to the fence—

drifting plum blossoms

             (written 2002, published 2003)

my sheets in the laundry

in case you might

stay over tonight

             (written 1993, published 1998)

my soda quieting—

the exchange student photographs

her airline dinner

             (written 1996/2000, published 2001)

my supper alone . . .

what is it about the moon

that feels so lonely?

             (written 2020, published 2020)

my wife makes

a mountain of them

molehills on the lawn

             (written 2011, published 2021)

my window opens

   a hundred frogs

         sing to the moon

             (date written unrecorded, but prior to April 1988, published 1988; this was my first-ever published haiku, not counting school publications)