S Miscellany

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

sailboats bobbing

in the Seabeck marina—

new moon

             (written 2017, published 2018)

salal in shadow—

another trail sign

riddled with bullets

             (written 2013, published 2021)

salmon migration—

a Beethoven tune

comes to mind

             (written 2022, published 2023; see “Migration” sequence)

sand

in

my

hand

the

end

of

a

mountain

             (written 2012, published 2013)

satanline

             (written 2021, published 2021; see “Pwoermds”)

scaling

the White House fence

English ivy

             (written 2017, published 2023; see “A Day in D.C.” rengay)

scattered showers . . .

the place where

your picture was

             (written 2013, published 2021)

scattering sparrows . . .

the baker starts to crank

his red-and-white awning

             (written 2000, published 2007)

scented breeze . . .

our conversation takes

an unexpected turn

             (written 2010, published 2011; see “Haiga with Other Artists”)

Seabeck retreat—

again this year

a bigger circle

             (written 2013, published 2015)

seasongone

             (written 1990, published 1991)

seedless grapes

in a wooden bowl—

the wet receipt

             (written 1997, published 2002; see “For a Moment,” in which this poem also appeared in 2009)

separation

the town square flag

at half mast

             (written 2011, published 2017; see “Separation” sequence)

September sun—

the ref ties

the goalie’s shoe

             (written 2014, published 2023)

sermon’s end—

potluck smells

rising through the vent

             (written 2010, published 2017)

sharp Winnipeg wind . . .

  walking backwards

       to the bus

             (written 1988, published 1991; see “My Poems in Haiku Society of America Anthologies”)

she loves me

  she loves me not . . .

I try another daisy

             (written 1996, published 1997)

she says sorry—

a palomino

in the rain

             (written 2013, published 2021)

she walks in beauty

like the night—

snow on the peaks

             (written 2015, published 2019; see “Fine Lines” sequence)

shiny Chevy—

the moon taken

for a ride

             (written 2011, published 2013)

shooting star—

making a wish

at the planetarium

             (written 1994, published 1999)

shooting star—

my child asks

where God came from

             (written 2014, published 2023)

short day—

the manhole cover’s

misaligned stripe

             (written 2005, published 2007; see “From Carpe Diem”)

short day—

the toe tag waves

as we turn away

             (written 2011, published 2013)

shrubby cinquefoil

taking over

the puppy’s grave

             (written 2009, published 2010; see “Northwest Plants and Flowers”)

signs of spring—

the forensic accountant

inflates her per diem

             (written 2015, published 2023)

silently I add

a hallelujah . . .

first snow

             (written 2018, published 2019; for Leonard Cohen; see “Memorial Haiku”)

single again . . .

the angle of bicycles

racing round the bend

             (written 2014, published 2023)

singles bar

everyone coupled

but me

             (written 1999, published 2007; rejected 15 times before acceptance)

sister-city meeting—

fold creases

in the foreign flag

             (written 2000, published 2004)

skinned knee—

my daughter asks me

about God

             (written 2011, published 2011)

slack tide . . .

       we both reach

for the same skipping stone

             (written 2001, published 2003)

sleeping toddler—

a bit of the ocean

left in his plastic pail

             (written 2007, published 2007; won the “English Haiku Prize” in the Genkissu Spirits Up World Wide Hekinan Haiku Contest)

sleet in the air . . .

my son adds a Hershey bar

to Dad’s coffin

             (written 2014, published 2023; see “My Poems in Haiku Society of America Anthologies”)

slow day . . .

I give the rocking chair

another push

             (written 2003, published 2005)

slowly lowered into the grave all of my shadows

             (written 2013, published 2019, with one word per line)

soaked by the rain

the umbrella man

sold out

             (written 1990, published 1990)

so many fingerprints a picture of home

             (written 2013, published 2016)

son’s suicide—

the basketball net’s shadow

on the garage door

             (written 1993, published 1994)

sparrow at dawn—

how slowly the light changes

with the song

             (written 1994, published 2000; see “For a Moment,” in which this poem also appeared in 2009)

spiced cider—

we sigh together

that we’re snowed in

             (written 2014, published 2023)

spinning prism—

  the newborn’s

      waving hand

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

squawk of a jay—

walking sticks left

at the trailhead

             (written 1994, published 2000)

stamps now

on all the letters—

winter moon

             (written 2017, published 2018)

standing still

by the sundial

she asks the time

             (written 2015, published 2017)

starless night—

we wish instead

upon a streetlight

             (written 2013, published 2021)

starlight

in the tree rings

mouse droppings

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

starry starry night—

unfinished art school paintings

in the dumpster

             (written 2003, published 2004)

starting her shift

the blonde bartender

puts on a wedding ring

             (written 2000, published 2005)

starting to melt

my daughter’s snow angel

inside mine

             (written 2011, published 2011; see “Through the Year 2” sequence)

startling naked lovers      the moo

             (written 2002, published 2002; accidentally published with “moon” instead of “moo”; see “Typos Happen!”)

steaming chowder—

a long phone call

from the old country

             (written 2014, published 2024)

stone idol

the slow turning

of the tide

             (date written unrecorded, but 1989 or earlier, published 1990; see “From The San Francisco Haiku Anthology”)

stone in my hiking boot

the rat-a-tat-tat

of a woodpecker

             (written 1994, published 1999; see “Typos Happen!”)

storm-downed power line—

a farmer’s fan-blade windmill

still standing

             (written 1992, published 2019)

strangers approaching

on the autumn beach . . .

the lull in their conversation

             (written 1999, published 2002)

suburban growth—

the Cascade View apartment

blocks the view

             (written 2014, published 2023)

such quiet . . .

snow filling

the birdhouse hole

             (written 2017, published 2024; see “Hymn” rengay)

Sunday afternoon

a book drops

from my hand

             (date written unrecorded, but before December 1989, published 1992)

suppose a snowflake

should fall

         what then?

             (date written unrecorded, but before August of 1990, published 1990)

sweaters lifted

       out of the closet—

the creak of my ankles

             (written 1998, published 2000)

swirling down the drain

a soap bubble

with my reflection

             (written 1992, published 1993)

swirling snow—

the sign says “sorry”

on the soup kitchen door

             (written 2013, published 2021)