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Haiku 64

Photo: Andrew Hamlin. CC-BY-SA 4.0

Dead tidepool,
twilight…
mossy musk

☯️

Mountain miles,
valley tree…
two chickadees

☯️

The bag crackles
and the seal
left unbroken

☯️

The plug pulls loose
and the old man curses–
toddler-stomping

☯️

Occluded moon…
night can’t know
it’s grown colder

☯️

Squashed moths,
across the ceiling…
ancient campaigns

☯️

Frosted glass…
Amazon man at the door
looks a ghoul

☯️

Sleet clicking
off the roof
and a TV dragon

☯️

Naught to do…
fart comes out
like a four-stroke roll

☯️

I’ll pack
my insignificance back
from that desert

☯️

He tries
nailing spring rain
to the barnside

☯️

Late winter…
pillow creaks beneath my ear,
breath by breath

☯️

So dark, so clear,
bosun’s whistle…
the snow moon

☯️

Long stoplight…
biker in black, drums
on his gas tank

☯️

Seven pissings–
enough…
I flush

☯️

Gorgeous redhead
like the mayfly, really…
upon reflection

☯️

Blow out smoke
and shake your sabre–
never conquered!

☯️

Scarred boot,
vigilant
by the mailbox

☯️

Dragonfly
chased blindly
into traffic
(thanks to Phil Dyess-Nugent)

☯️

What year is this?
Ponder…
snow blows north

☯️

Pothole
half-filled, winter drizzle…
motor away

☯️


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