R Miscellany

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

rained-out picnic—

the view we could have had

into each other

             (written 2013, published 2022)

raising the oars

summer sun

sparkles in the lake

             (written 1990, published 1990; a later version, not published, has “filling the wake” as the last line)

reading a book . . .

a dog barks

at summer flies

             (date written unrecorded, but no later than 1989, published 1990; this is an example of what I would now call a so-what haiku, among its other weaknesses, but it’s an example of what I was writing then)

receding tide—

our fingers touch

a tiny urchin

             (written 1991, published 1994)

recession—

this year’s fireworks

a little shorter

             (written 2010, published 2018)

recipe cards

     spilled from the box

the telephone stops ringing

             (written 1995, published 2003)

reconciliation

you hand me a meadow

of wildflowers

             (written 2011, published 2013)

referendum day—

a schoolboy colours with a single crayon

over Ireland

             (written 1998, published 2000)

restraining disorder

             (written 2019, published 2019)

retreat center parking lot—

an unfolded map

on every passenger seat

             (written 2000, published 2001; originally published with “Asilomar parking lot” as the first line)

retreat over—

the wipers still on

from when we drove in

             (written 2009, published 2009)

returning boats . . .

the path of the pelican

from beach to pier

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

revised due date—

a purple blossom

enclosed with your letter

             (written 2011, published 2012; see “Haiga with Other Artists”)

rice chaff

whitens the scoop—

supper alone

             (written 2002, published 2007; see “Five Food Haiku”)

ringing church bell—

moonlight dimmed

by a gentle snowfall

             (written 1999, published 2004)

ringing phone—

the bathroom scale

recenters itself

             (written 1998, published 2004)

ripples in the tidepool—

a quieter ocean

in my child’s shell

             (written 2001, published 2007)

rippling moon . . .

this old tin can

will take no more rain

             (written 1992, published 1993)

rising again and again over freeway billboards     full moon

             (written 1993, published 2003, as a three-liner)

rising and falling

her voice

while arranging flowers

             (written 2011, published 2011; for Margaret Chula)

rising gas prices—

the attendant changing numbers

in a pouring rain

             (written 2000, published 2005)

rising high above the eagle’s nest

      the same moon

            that Hitler saw

             (written 2012, published 2018)

     river ice

                   cracks

a stuck log

             (written 1994, published 1995)

river walk . . .

the endless flow

of our conversation

             (written 2014, published 2024; see “River Walk” trifold)

roar of the missed bus—

the stone I kicked

falls into a storm drain

             (written 1997, published 1997; see “My Poems in Haiku Society of America Anthologies”)

rolling down the ballpark steps

        a paper bag

       the shape of a bottle

             (written 1992, published 1994; see “Pop Fly” sequence)

roses on the casket

      shaking

at the lowering

             (written 2002, published 2006; for Francine Porad; see “Memorial Haiku”)

rusted hinge . . .

flecks of old paint

in dry grass

             (written 1990, published 2001)

rusted wheelbarrow . . .

      ripples

            from a fallen leaf

             (written 1990, published 1990)

rust in the cedars—

we gather again

in her favourite spot

             (written 2010, published 2017)

rustling aspen

mouse bones

in the barn-owl pellet

             (written 2009, published 2010; see “Thump of a Rose” rengay)