Embedded Files
My first haiku in Brussels Sprout, edited by Francine Porad, appeared in May of 1990. I had work in all but two issues after that, itemized here, arranged chronologically by issue number. This includes 38 individual haiku, one renku, and one sequence. My capitalization and punctuation varied a bit, and some poems feel more descriptive than intuitive (not enough of a juxtapositional leap). And I sometimes had the beginner habit of dressing my poems in a kimono—making them “Japanese” by referring to a moongate, Santōka, saké, bamboo, and a temple. The “grandfather rests” poem from 1992 is not what I’d write today, because it takes an omniscient point of view best avoided in haiku (I cannot know what the grandfather is remembering). This poem demonstrates the difference between observation and inference—the poet should observe, and the reader should infer, not the poet. As I say in my workshops today, don’t write about your feelings; instead, write about what caused your feelings (or ideas). The following poems are a sort of time capsule, a way to see how I was writing in the early days of my first submitting haiku (starting in the late 1980s). If I could pick one poem that I’m most proud of from my poems in Brussels Sprout, it would be this: +
children’s
book
sh
elves
end of summer—
a single leaf
falls to the parkbench
No one to hear
a redwood falls
and falls
daybreak—
a shaft of sun
through the moongate
dust
settling at last
dusk
santōka’s garden
saké
half drunk
burial at sea
all night moon
on the wake
into the old oak
the young pine
leans
children’s
book
sh
elves
great arc across the sky
a swift
dips under the moon
maternity wing
at the inner-city hospital—
revolving door
stolen kiss
under starlight—
a twig snaps
empty field
a rusted thresher
gathering wildflowers
after the storm
big dipper
in the rain barrel
the obelisk
without a shadow
this heat
grandfather rests
on a weathered stump
remembering
the tree swing
opening the front door—
the warmth of the morning sun
through the doorknob
summer leaves
tinged red . . .
the smell of burning
the old bam
where we first kissed—
condominiums
scent of narcissus—
the screen door swings shut
then open again
Alice in Wonderland
left open to grandma’s page
of pressed starflowers
mission cemetery—
a stone madonna’s outstretched hand
receives the first snowflake
“A Gnat in Amber” renku by Paul O. Williams and Michael Dylan Welch
the supper bell
unrung—
a sunning butterfly
country road—
two songs at once
on the radio
rain-spoiled picnic . . .
in the back of the station wagon
a chip-bag uncurls
summer solstice—
a bamboo leaf
fits a cobblestone’s curve
temple blossoms . . .
the deep tones
of wind bells
poster in front
of the failed bank
“Jesus saves”
snow on the landing—
the prints
of the old woman’s walker
after the talk
on the afterlife—lifting my foot
over the dung beetle
an old fiddle case
takes my coins
and the rain
low sunset tide—
the toddler’s tracks
to every broken sand dollar
outdoor concert—
the bobbing flute
keeps catching the sun
“The Renga Party: To Boldly Go Where No Link Has Gone Before” sequence
midday heat—
the only horse
under the only tree
before Sunday dinner . . .
the sun filters through table lace
to the dog’s nose
my lover’s call...
the cord wrapped
around my finger
unborn waves
far out to sea . . .
the blue of her eyes
the longest bar in San Francisco
the slow walk for schnapps
at the far end
(for Jerry Kilbride)
wood grain worn
around the beer taps
splinter in the barkeep’s finger
(for Jerry Kilbride)
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