Category Archives: The Whirligig
An Overflowing Cup of Couplets
1.
Choice is good, and so is bliss.
(Someone wiser told me this.)
2.
In the margin of a book
Someone counted commas—look!
3.
If the final stretch is wide,
You might weave from side to side.
4.
Does your chest hurt? Doesn’t matter.
What’s that on your hand—blood spatter?
5.
Pull the lever, pull it hard,
And then play your wildest card.
6.
Lone, not lonely, is the house
Without cricket, fly, or mouse.
More The Whirligig #334
More Writers’ Pantry #86 at Poets and Storytellers United
Vignettes
1.
Standing in the sand,
we argued with the seagulls
and railed at the wind.
2.
A loud cry at dusk—
strange that you’re so far away
with danger so near.
3.
a disturbing sound
not unlike the whir of wings
or the soughing wind
4.
I lift the fence wire,
avoiding the rusty barbs—
my path lies ahead.
5.
Talking to the dead
is like going to the beach
without a towel.
6.
We fill summer’s cup,
sucking sap from willow trees,
calling it our wine.
More The Whirligig #333
More Writers’ Pantry #85 at Poets and Storytellers United
On a Summer’s Day
1.
The musty carpet
coughs up some dirty secrets
on a summer’s day.
2.
The hated curtains
end up in a garbage can
on a summer’s day.
3.
flashback to thin things
found on a summer’s day
when drought squeezed the land
4.
rust on a gate hinge
glittering dew on cobwebs—
summer’s day delights
5.
Birds, bees, bright blossoms—
if only this summer day
would last forever!
More The Whirligig #332
More Writers’ Pantry #84 at Poets and Storytellers United
Haibun: Simple Pleasures
As a humble person, I fill my mornings with simple pleasures: writing haiku on clean white paper; straightening bent nails with a hammer; watching a sparrow build a new nest; or touching—gingerly—cactus needles. Evenings, I enjoy watching the current swirl where the river bends on its way to Mexico. I need no more medicines for my soul than these.
Deepening summer—
I long to wash the field dust
from my hands and face.
Three Haiku with Coffee
1.
Seeker of wisdom,
the willow root is waiting
with a word for you.
2.
If the lilies bloom,
I trust they will be fragrant—
meanwhile, drought persists.
3.
Following a path
leading to forgotten fields,
I begin to dream.
More The Whirligig #328
More Writers’ Pantry #80 at Poets and Storytellers United
Five Haiku with Bitter Tea
1.
how to bridge the gap
between the cricket’s chirpings—
summer conundrum
2.
No wonder she frets:
Her belly is full of husks
instead of sweet corn.
3.
the sound of ruin
roaring through the village streets—
rampaging waters
4.
Broken violins
play sonatas in my dreams—
winter’s brittle notes.
5.
I’m keeping your note:
one hundred words of protest
against summer’s heat.
More The Whirligig #327
More Writers’ Pantry #79 at Poets and Storytellers United
Haibun: Pandemic
Last year was hard—it was brutal!—as the world endured the Covid-19 pandemic. Here a mother died, there a father, and somewhere else a whole family. Some of us lost our homes, because we couldn’t work. Some of us ended up sleeping under bridges, or in fields, or in other out-of-the-way places. We were desolate. We couldn’t reach out to each other for a hug or handshake because we were in lockdown, afraid for our lives. Nothing seemed to help. And then came harbingers of hope, bearing strange names: Pfizer, Moderna, AstraZeneca—vaccines to vanquish the virus! We offered our arms for a jab, and started to look beyond our nightmare, daring to hope that our world might someday be normal again.
Hidden mountain stream—
see, a doe and her fawn come
for the day’s first drink!
Five Haiku with Tea
1.
Rainy afternoon—
a broken silk umbrella
lies in the gutter.
2.
How placid the cat
curled seemingly forever
in the old man’s lap!
3.
How satisfying
to drink clear, cool spring water
from a clean white cup!
4.
In darkness the hills
hold lurid conversations
with the river stones.
5.
Autumn advances—
the maple’s leaves turn crimson
without fuss or noise.
More The Whirligig #320
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
More Writers’ Pantry #72 at Poets and Storytellers United
I Am a Poem
I am a poem.
A poem that says it needs to be famous,
but busies itself with mundane work.
A poem that sometimes acts as if it were on stage,
but usually cowers in the bedroom closet.
A poem that defies gravity like a trapeze artist swinging
through space, only to find no place to land.
A poem that wants to attend the School of Extraordinary Feats,
but after graduating would not know how to apply what
it has learned to ordinary life.
Who would read a poem like that?
More The Whirligig #319
More Writers’ Pantry #71 at Poets and Storytellers United
Four Haiku with Tea
1.
This hair in my tea—
how can I not dislike it?
Spring’s first misfortune…
2.
These shaded flowers
seem to want to climb the wall,
eager for more light.
3.
O sorrowful moss,
surely you know that your hurt
has drawn me to you.
4.
When autumn arrives,
meet me in the swirling leaves
near the maple tree.
More The Whirligig #318
More Writers’ Pantry #70 at Poets and Storytellers United
