My Poems in Woodnotes

From 1989 to 1997, I edited Woodnotes, the quarterly journal of the Haiku Poets of Northern California, and also contributed my own work. The following are all my poems included in the journal, arranged chronologically by issue number. I also list rengay, essays, longer book reviews, or occasionally other content also included, and provide links to that content where available, but I omit mentioning editorials, news items, more than two hundred short book reviews, and other content I wrote. I hope the 53 haiku, senryu, and tanka collected here demonstrate an improving trajectory of poetic understanding. See also “My Tanka in Woodnotes” and “Selected Haiku and Senryu from Woodnotes” (poems by other poets).

#3, Autumn 1989

 

chinook wind

the smell of

melting snow

 

 

#4. Winter 1990

 

harbour lights

the smell of fish

and fishermen

 

 

 

#5, Spring 1990

 

redwood wind

and a rushing stream—

one sound

 

into the cave

     high tide

          spring moon

 

 

 

#6, Summer 1990

 

after the funeral

changing her cat calendar

in mid month

 

midsummer dawn

       the scarecrow’s

              unbuttoned shirt

 

 

#7, Autumn 1990

 

through the birches

       a zig-zag trail

              holds a dragonfly

 

at his favourite deli

the bald man finds a hair

in his soup

 

 

 

#8, Winter 1991

 

dreaming of spring

I shake the snow

from this pine

 

where the hobo sleeps

beyond the moonlight . . .

a blowing newspaper

 

 

after the quake

the weathervane

pointing to earth

 

looking up from rubble—

first ray of morning

beyond dark hills

 

aftershocked

 

 

#9, Spring/Summer 1991

 

 

in the shade of beech trees—

green moss of spring

on an old wooden dory

 

 

#10, Autumn 1991

 

             [published anonymously, but written by me]

 

harvest moon—

the white spot

on the black cat

 

 

#11, Winter 1991

 

summer stillness—

       a blade of fresh cut grass

              unbends

 

 

#12, Spring 1992

 

 

 

#13, Summer 1992

 

dust hovers above the road at sunset

 

 

#14, Autumn 1992

 

autumn moon—

     a silver leaf      folds

          over the weir

 

(written with Ebba Story)

 

 

#15, Winter 1992

 

a week after New Year’s—

a trail of pine needles

out to the trash

 

empty silo—

       spring wind pops the metal

              in and out

             [in book review]

 

 

#16, Spring 1993

 

summer stillness—

a bamboo leaf

on the turtle’s back

 

this cold lonely night

without you, with no chance

of seeing you again,

how I wish

I could turn off the moon



 

#17, Summer 1993

 

no mail today . . .

tracks of rain on the window

changing direction

 

a snail has left

its delicate silver trail

on my book of love poems

left out on your porch

overnight

 

 

#18, Autumn 1993

 

 

spring breeze—

       flowers

              in the folds of your skirt

 

so lonely

again this night . . .

the moonlight

spills over the levee

toward your street

 

#19, Winter 1993

 

still fluttering

in the mountain wind,

a thousand paper cranes

hung on the pine

by your window

 

spring breeze—

the pull of her hand

as we near the pet store

 

 

 

#20, Spring 1994

 

 

tonight only a pair doves

has come to my window’s shelter

and beside my still-made bed

I have watched

he raindrops fall

 

          dashing from your car—

summer hail

       streaks my shirt

 

 

#21, Summer 1994

 

I tell her I grow old

have a paunch and need new clothes

that the wild geese have flown

and winter is approaching

—my mother laughs

 

sun on the rain spout . . .

      shadows

from peeling paint

 

noon sun—

the curve of wet sand

around a glass float

             [in book review]

 

 

#22, Autumn 1994

 

    floating down the stream

               petals

                          swept

from the summer-house deck

 

trimming my nails

on a summer afternoon,

I think of you—

yesterday you told me

you just cut your hair

 

 

#23, Winter 1994

 

a swirl of snow—

she lifts her hair

out of her sweater

 

 

 

#24, Spring 1995

 

cleaning the bedroom—

the warmth of her shirt

left in the sun

 

rain streaks the window—

an old phone book

burning in the stove

 

 

#25, Summer 1995

 

 

how much heavier

       after morning mist—

her jeans on the line

 

a clean towel

from the linen closet—

smell of scented candles

 

 

#26, Autumn 1995

 

leash on a nail—

snowmelt

in the dog dish

 

flowering plum—

the overnight rain

has taken the blossoms

 

 

 

#27, Winter 1995

 

my hand curves

      to fit your breast . . .

the windowsill, snow-laden

 

winter wind—

kite string tangled

in the garden trellis

 

 

#28, Spring 1996

 

golden sun

still in the waving wheat

at twilight

 

drifting

      into the moon

toy sailboat

 

 

#29, Summer 1996

 

summer afternoon—

the worm in the robin’s beak

still twisting

 

taking invisible tickets

at the foot of the basement stairs—

child’s magic show

 


#30, Autumn 1996

 

the black cricket—

        louder

in my rusted pail

 

fading sunset . . .

    icicles

on a wasp nest

 

 

 

#31, Autumn 1997

 

words do not come

for you

on your passing

till the first warm day

      the blossoming plum

             (for Pat Shelley)

 

horse dust settles

      the wet end

      of a snapped sapling

 

first snow—

the random tracks

of Canada geese