On the Composition of Writers.... (or me, anyway)

Take seven parts absent minded poet, mix in three days of overloaded schedule, smother with High School Drama, allow to bubble for a week, and what do you get? Someone who doesn't update their blog on time... Heh. Sorry!
..........
falling leaves
play little games
in the autumn winds
..........
two sets of clothes.
one of them's
for Gym
..........
strange geometry:
pages
on the bulletin board
..........
the pizza man
interrupts
the meaning of life
..........
leaving the funeral...
church bells
..........
ink bleeds slowly
onto my skin
..........
new light,
the face of my watch
a new color
..........
chairs on desks.
dust motes learn
..........
old bag...
equal rights sticker
peels
..........
fallen leaf
covers
the mole's burrow
..........
lichen
slowly covers
the bench
..........
door propped open.
passers-by
watch
..........
two years later,
a choir song
..........
poets' meeting.
we all share
the silence
..........
morning, cold and wet.
falling leaves
stick
..........

A Change in Schedule...

With the start of the school year comes the start of Haiku Club. As it meets on Tuesdays, it makes most sense to shift the updating thither. Unfortunately, it rather slipped my mind last week, so I have lots and lots (and lots...) of haiku. Heh heh heh. Sorry.....
..........
abandoned building.
plants grow
between paving stones
..........
long ago orchard:
the trees
still in rows
..........
the building's
flat roof.
tree-tops
peep over
..........
urban courtyard.
the Lords and Ladies
still find it
..........
in the old drainpipe,
the forest
in microcosm
..........
anticipating fall,
Japanese maple
already red
..........
old costume:
a faded order:
hem!
..........
perched in a tree,
she watches the world
go by
..........
old wing of the school...
paint
peels
..........
new benches.
yellow wood
turns brown
..........
tree shadows
dance
on the open lawn
..........
quiet meditation.
suddenly,
he laughs
..........

Whoops!

Sorry I didn't post yesterday; I was rather bogged down with other things. But I have poems! Hooray for the muse of Autumn!
..........
summer lightning
on the hills beyond.
silence here
..........
the same walk...
only the seasons
change
..........
adjacent math rooms.
three teachers;
one drone
..........
another year...
last year's underbrush
gone
..........
with wings,
the pen becomes
a dragonfly
..........
a knowing smile
from someone
I've never even seen
..........
on the sidewalk, half
of a rusted key
..........
summer afternoon
watering
the new yews
..........

No. 19

This entry is likely to be somewhat shorter than normal. There's a haibun on the brilliancy of the skies of late, but it's still percolating, and it doesn't do to rush these things...
..........
familiar faces
gone again.
new glasses
..........
arch of vines
overgrown
by itself
..........
one year later,
the same haiku
again
..........
in the wind,
the white wing
of a moth
..........
the tree's shadow
cast in leaves
..........
scattered business cards
on the sidewalk
after rain
..........

Post No. 18

Well, right on cue with the start of school, the creative juices started to flow. It seems that I only write when I have absolutely no time to do it... Hmmm.... Well, anyway, here's the most recent batch!
..........
oboe solo...
raven
in the red pine
..........
Sinfonia Antarctica...
passing cars
become waves
..........
in vain,
the cat
attacks the box
..........
September...
suddenly,
it's fall
..........
baking.
the fine line
between raw and black
..........
tree roots
make speed bumps
on the old bike trail
..........

The Muse Stirs...

While August may not be the most fertile month for my poetical cornfield, the poems do accumulate. And, seeing as school is looming on the horizon of summer, I thought I might as well start the ninth month with a clean slate. So.... I present to you the acquired detritus of the tail end of summer!
..........
thunder...
after five years,
the mountaintop
.........
unnoticed,
the incense stick
buns out
..........
A Musical Offering.
the train whistle
becomes a fifth voice
..........
blackbird under juniper rain
..........
knitting.
the computer
endlessly updating
..........
sheet music.
all the parts
unlabeled
..........
celtic band.
the guitarist's
digital watch
..........
before the concert,
the harpsichord
tuner
..........
distracted from Keats
by the antics
of crabs
..........
soliloquy:
how much
is the actor acting?
..........

Noise!

Sound. Hammering, pounding, shattering! Warping, twisting, breaking. Unresolved dissonance clamoring, wailing, shrieking. Unbearable, beating everything, everything, into submission.

Mindless. Humming, droning, an undercurrent of pain and death. Suffering, rendered unspeakable, horribly, renderingly real. Heartbreak and anguish given voice.

The disparity of surface and soul explored in waves of intolerable harmonics. Overtones, loose firecrackers, whizzing overhead, snaring Hope, forcing her down to earth. Then deeper, deeper, until her quavering light is utterly extinguished.

Trumpets, drums, fifes blaring, individual timbres lost and overwhelmed. Somewhere, a choir sings of judgment, the words lost in a tumble of sliding consonants.

And then, after the noise,

comes the silence.
..........

(The above is not really a haibun, but I like it enough to include it anyway.)

An announcement

My Muse seems to have fled to a Drawing room somewhere in Victorian England, and my metaphysical self has gone off in search of her. I'm not sure when they'll be back. There's not much point in posting until they do, so there will be a hiatus of indeterminate length, beginning now. Ta ta for now!