Mann Library Daily Haiku

Poems from the month of May 2016, as featured poet at the Mann Library haiku page at Cornell University (and one on Haikuniverse). My thanks to Tom Clausen for his serendipitous selections and sequencing of the following poems, all previously published.

May 1                                              spring sun—

                                              at the top of the roller coaster

                                                        she says yes


May 2                                   tulip festival—

                                              the colours of all the cars

                                              in the parking lot


May 3                                   reading in bed

                                                      my pulse flickering

                                                      the lightly held bookmark


May 4                                   morning bird song— +

                                              my paddle slips

                                              into its reflection


May 5                                   landing swallow—

                                              the ship’s chain

                                              dips slightly


May 6                                   spring breeze—

                                              the pull of her hand

                                              as we near the pet store


May 7                                   morning sun

                                                        a patch of frost

                                                   in the holstein’s shadow


May 8                                   mountain spring—

                                                    in my cupped hand

                                                          pine needles


May 9                                   meteor shower . . .

                                              a gentle wave

                                              wets our sandals +


May 10                                 after-dinner mints

                                              passed around the table

                                              . . . slow-falling snow


May 11                                 fresh snow on the mat—

                                              the shape of welcome

                                              still visible


May 12                                 crackling beach fire—

                                              we hum in place of words

                                              we can’t recall


May 13                                 empty silo—

                                              spring wind pops the metal

                                              in and out


May 14                                 summer moonlight

                                                     the potter’s wheel

                                                           slows


May 15                                 pulsing

                                              in the wiper’s blade

                                              the bee’s abdomen


May 16                                 spring cleaning—

                                              dirt in the grooves

                                              of the five iron


May 17                                 you squeeze my hand . . .

                                              how still the sky

                                              after fireworks


May 18                                 toll booth lit for Christmas—

                                              from my hand to hers

                                              warm change


May 19                                 under the umbrella

                                                     stormy face


May 20                                 taking invisible tickets

                                              at the foot of the basement stairs—

                                              child’s magic show


May 21                                           gridlock

                                                                on the freeway—

                                              the skywriting drifts


May 22                                 beach parking lot—

                                              where the car door opened

                                              a small pile of sand


May 23                                 clicking off the late movie . . .

                                                     the couch cushion

                                                     reinflates


May 24                                 first cold night—

                                              the farmhouse linoleum

                                              worn at the sink


May 25                                 moving day—

                                              the coolness on my cheek

                                              after your kiss


May 26                                 deep in shadow

                                              three generations

                                              counting tree rings


May 27                                 first on the trail—

                                              the pull of a spider’s strand

                                              across my face


May 28                                 fox on the trail—

                                              your hand held up

                                              to my chest


May 29                                 my hand on your thigh . . .

                                              from the window seat

                                              the curve of the earth


May 30                                 first day of summer

                                              a postman delivers mail

                                              in a safari hat


May 31                                 from horizon to horizon the milky way

Author Bio

Michael Dylan Welch has cultivated his sense of wonder with haiku poetry since he was a teenager. His poems have appeared in hundreds of journals and anthologies in at least twenty languages. He enjoys writing essays about haiku, which have also been widely published. Michael has served the haiku community in various ways: founding, running, and helping to run organizations such as the Haiku Society of America, Haiku North America, the American Haiku Archives, National Haiku Writing Month, Haiku Northwest, and the Tanka Society of America, directing haiku retreats, publishing books and journals, and running poetry readings. Michael hopes that others, too, will catch the haiku habit. What a wonderful world!