T Miscellany

The following miscellaneous “Haiku from Index Cards” all start with the letter T. This index card box includes all poems that start with “the,” which adds to the number of poems included here. Also, the index cards for poems that start with T contain far more two-liners than any other letter.

talk of war—

our plan to meet

at the watershed preserve

             (written 2014, published 2024)

tall weeds—

the upturned boat

shedding rain

             (written 1994, published 1999)

tarnished silver

     the only guest

          eats in silence

             (written 1990, published 1990; see “Haiga with Gary LeBel”)

taxis in a line

at the county airport—

migrating geese

             (written 2001, published 2004)

telling her new husband

     not to call at the office

          the marriage counselor

             (written 1993, published 1998)

temple bell

the haijin’s tweed coat

sprinkled with pine needles

             (written 1990, published 1990; see “The Haijin’s Tweed Coat”)

temple cherry blossoms—

where they’ve been swept

and where they haven’t

             (written 2014, published 2024)

ten below zero—

the thump of the tires

as we start off to church

             (written 2000, published 2007; see “From Shiki Haikusphere,” with Japanese translation)

tenement shadows—

a single window-box

filled with marigolds

             (written 1993, published 2004)

the baby’s hand the crackling leaf

             (written 1992, published 2019; originally written for a renku at Asilomar, but I no longer have a record of the renku or its title)

the baby’s smile—

she catches

a falling leaf

             (written 1991, published 1992)

the black sheep

of the family

late for the reunion

             (written 2014, published 2014; see “Back in Black” solo rengay)

the boy my dead mother

      gave my Hot Wheels to

            now a doctor

             (written 2015, published 2024)

the candle melted

into itself

my book unfinished

             (written 2008, published 2010; see “Crows Return” renku)

the clackity-clack

of the last roller coaster—

a crescent moon

             (written 1993, published 2004)

the clatter of china

        mingles

                with the thunder

             (written 1994, published 2021; see “Clatter of China”)

the clink of china

stacked in the sink . . .

an unopened letter

             (written 1998, published 2001)

the crack of driftwood

burning in the bonfire—

you retune again

             (written 2003, published 2008)

the day after Christmas

a flock of sparrows

lands in left-over trees

             (written 1991, published 1992)

the dull-faced man

      lights a cigarette

            in the rain

             (written 1993, published 1994)

the empty nest

passed from hand to hand

—our whispering

             (written 1997, published 1997)

the entomologist

     moving a monster

          with tweezers

             (written 1990, published 1993)

the eyrie above me

sways in the wind—

forest fire moon

             (written 2015, published 2022)

the farmer’s old dog

panting

in the harvester

             (written 2000, published 2003)

the first baseman

and the batter

touching base

             (written 2010, published 2018; see “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” sequence)

the glint of your watch—

dandelion wine

lifted to your lips

             (written 1995, published 2007)

the goldfish

in the baby’s hand

turning soggy

             (written 2014, published 2014; see “Rhymes with Orange” solo rengay)

the green mamba

behind glass

—I think

             (written 2014, published 2014; see “Green Flash” solo rengay)

the gull’s cry—

      the shape of the wave

      before it curls

             (written 1993, published 1995)

the hangtime

of a tossed football

separation

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

the heron’s stillness

circles of rain

fill the pond

             (written 1990, published 1991)

the hills in flowers . . .

a pair of wooden skis

crossed over the fireplace

             (written 1992, published 2000)

the hospice handrail

shines in the moonlight . . .

the heavy box

             (written 2011, published 2018)

the hour candle

reaching its hour . . .

cathedral echo

             (written 2018, published 2022)

the kingfisher’s shadow

over shoreline pebbles—

distant thunder

             (written 1998, published 1998)

the lamp tilted

to light my diary—

the year’s first snow

             (written 2007, published 2020; see “Tilted Lamp”)

the last car

in a foggy parking lot—

headlights fading

             (written 1992, published 1997)

the last of winter—

my son makes a truck

with my childhood Lego

             (written 2008, published 2019)

the last patch of snow

on the mossy lawn . . .

a call from home

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

the little girl asks

if her dollhouse is safe—

hurricane warning

             (written 2007, published 2007)

the loon’s ripples

      disappear

mandolin summer

             (written 2015, published 2022; see “Haiku of the Day”)

the lost chess piece

     turns up

in the Monopoly box

             (written 1992, published 2022; see “A Trumpeter Swan” renku)

the man with the shopping cart

—how carefully he folds

his dollar bill

             (written 1996, published 1997)

the mayor’s speech . . .

flecks of rust

beneath the anchor

             (written 2011, published 2017)

the Mondrian

I leave it

tilted

             (written 1994, published 1998)

the obelisk

without a shadow

this heat

             (written 1990, published 1992)

the old barn

where we first kissed—

condominiums

             (written 1991, published 1992)

the old couple

at the country-fair dance

tapping their canes

             (written 1993, published 1998)

the old rope

smooth in my hand—

new year’s bell fading

             (written 2001, published 2015; see “The Mended Shōji” sequence and “Haiku of the Day”; poem written 1 January 2001 in Minokamo, Japan)

the padlock

to granddad’s shed

rusted shut

             (written 2013, published 2017)

the paisley lampshade

by the broken cabin window,

dusted with snow

             (written 1993, published 1996)

the parking meeting

flashes red—

a hint of snow

             (written 2018, published 2019)

the puddle’s

     sudden stillness

          after pebbles

             (written 1992, published 1995)

the rabbit’s ears

backlit by a sinking sun—

dry grass swaying

             (written 2000, published 2017; see “Aichi Prefecture Board of Education Award”)

therapistopswearing

             (written 1994, published 1999)

therapisttherapisttherapist

             (written 2019, published 2019)

there and back

on the drive to Tahoe,

pine needle in the wiper

             (written 1992, published 1996)

there, under the café awning,

the man who stole

my parking space

             (written 2003, published 2005; see “Tracing the Fern,” where this poem also appeared)

the river flowing stronger

       first catkins

       on the willow

             (written 1992, published 1994)

the settlers’ cemetery     freshly mowed

             (written 2010, published 2016; see “Between Night Hills” renku)

the shooting star fades

      a single note

            from her wind chime

             (written 1990, published 1991)

the siren stops

at the draped body—

hopscotch markings

             (written 1996, published 2000; see “Haiku of the Day”)

the slant of rushes . . .

paddle eddies

into trout eddies

             (written 2001, published 2018)

the sound of a coin

dropped in an alley—

summer’s end

             (written 2012, published 2016)

the staple remover

still holding the staple

from the divorce papers

             (written 2011, published 2016)

the street-corner preacher

points the way

with his Bible

             (written 2001, published 2007; see “Parodies, Homages, Allusions” and “Poetry That Heals”)

the street-corner preacher

points the way

with his tablet

             (written 2014, published 2018; a technological “update” on the preceding poem; see “Our Own Devices” rengay)

the sun just out—

a pod of orcas

leading the ferry

             (written 2008, published 2015; see “Leading the Ferry” renku)

the supper bell

    unrung—

a sunning butterfly

             (written 1991, published 1993)

the tattoo

I never knew she had—

summer solstice

             (written 2019, published 2019)

the walker left

outside her room—

empty bed

             (written 2020, published 2021)

the weight

of the trillium

I shouldn’t have picked

             (written 2011, published 2016)

the window open

at the daycare center—

drifting blossoms

             (written 2011, published 2017)

the year passing . . .

a little snow

on the windowsill

             (written 2015, published 2023)

third inning—

my six-year-old counts

the passing airplanes

             (written 2010, published 2020; see “Home Run” solo rengay)

third trimester—

a forecast of sunshine

for the morning

             (written 2003, published 2004; see “Expecting” sequence)

thoughts of autumn—

rain on the train window

changes angle

             (written 2013, published 2021; see “Tokyo to Kamakura” sequence)

thoughts of marriage—

the wishbone

broken evenly

             (written 1992, published 2003; I got married in 2001)

three-legged race—

watermelon rinds

still dripping

             (written 1992, published 2007)

thru

sting

my

pen

is

might

i

er th

an

a s

word

             (written 1994, published 2018)

tick of the kitchen clock

laid on the table—

a stack of empty boxes

             (written 1994, published 2008)

toboggan run—

I discover

my coccyx

             (written 2007, published 2020)

together

we take the old dog’s route

summer rain

             (written 1997, published 1998)

tonight’s stars—

how long will it take

for my light to reach them?

             (written 2012, published 2013)

too dark already

to take a photo—

drifting ashes

             (written 2008, published 2016)

track meet—

a few grains of sand

in the drinking fountain

             (written 1999, published 2002)

traffic jam—

the radiator

blows its cool

             (written 1990, published 1991)

tripod holes

in the creekside mud—

Yosemite dawn

             (written 2000, published 2004)

tsunami anniversary—

a thousand cranes

still to be folded

             (written 2012, published 2012; see “Nagasaki Blossoms”)

tulip festival—

we talk about everything

but the flowers

             (written 2008, published 2015)

turquoise kokopelli—

he hands her the earring

she thought she’d lost

             (written 2013, published 2016; see “Face to Face” rengay, written aboard the Catalina Jet ferry to Catalina Island in Southern California)

turquoise sea—

the remains of a dock

drifted from Japan

             (written 2013, published 2021)

turtle-shell scrimshaw

in the Polynesian museum—

the shift of leather shoes

             (written 2001, published 2011)

twilight lingers . . .

       from the wrecking yard

       flash of a blow torch

             (written 1993, published 2002)

two crabs claw

      to claw in the tidepool

the flashlight dims

             (written 1996, published 1997; this poem was made into a haiga by Susan Frame, on Haiga Online, I believe around 1998, but I have no copy of the haiga; it included a Japanese translation by Hiromi Inoue: “kami tume no / shio no tomari ni / kage wo saku”)