Daily Haiku IX: Anticipation

it reads:
We wait for the green
But not seeing it we join
In the rite of spring.


it is addressed thusly:
A vision.
it reads:
Outside it is cold
Colder than a desert night
With the last eye of light
Cast upon the barren ground
Lest the lurking be found
Lest the night turn to day
Before bidden; And hidden
Within these four thin walls
But a tent that rises and falls
But beside me you are warm
And lie sightless beyond harm
Driven now to silent calm
To stir, but breathe lightly
As the dead will breathe
And lo, for what they leave
Brings you apace, your measured solace
As though drugged by the murmuring song
Of our conversation.


Daily Haiku IIX: Bumper

it reads:
A crowd of small words
Loud as an indistinct noise
Sticker shock returns.


it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
From the level ground
Grow the roots of the mountains
Foothills stand and kneel
Stretching forth as a young cedar
Opens her hands in morning
Breathing with sight
And without sound singing
To the dome of deep heaven.


Daily Haiku, VII:Retro

it reads:
The old, new again
The turning of the season
Or memory's lapse?

The Man of the Book

it is addressed thusly:
A song.
it reads:
The man of the book, who may say
When at last by law driven
Out to places untraced and dry
By night and by day, by night and by day
Will for his own heart not be riven
And call without trembling or sigh
Seven spirits far worse than they?


Daily Haiku, VI: Overlook

it reads:
A flag more subtle
Royal blue amid the gray
Drapes a tapestry

The Song on the Bridge Wall

it is addressed thusly:
A vision.
it reads:
Do we wait, who watch mountains
Passing in the window of a car
Who see the snow fall and melt
Breathe cold as the sun must breathe
In the depths of cold Heaven
Patiently, as the rivers are patient
Carving deep paths across
The tired face of the land;
Frozen and yet, as live as rivulets
That push everything off the hills;
Watching, as the old towns
Who seem all too antique
All too antique for life as we think
Wink at us travelers, subtle
As a colored curtain in a window
Single in a well worn avenue;
As gray as the slate of roofs
That never die but still leak
Did we find in her any proofs
Of our central and certain conceit
Did we find her in the wrong
On the wrong side of history?
Do we wait for the denouement
Do we search for her gestalt
In the tea leaves of old pavement
In the bones of parched boughs
Across the board of her industry
Grown old for our novelties?
Did we think we had seen it
The climax and now resolution
The action falls awaits conclusion
But the snow moves in line
Recoloring the ancient hills
And the old city breathes deep
Into the locked frozen river
And the bridges moan in the cold day
Under the sun in deep Heaven
While we were waiting
While anticipation gnawed us old
And we pined away for hope
We wonder if anyone was told
What was written on the wall
For we have forgotten
What our story is at all.


Daily Haiku V: Signal

it reads:
A cloud's bright liner
Alabaster in the dusk
Gold before twilight.

The Sage Considers The Time of Saturn

it is addressed thusly:
A vision.
it reads:
I see the cold spring evening
And the bright-trimmed clouds
Moving, are still a moment
And maybe the hard ground
And maybe the setting frost
Will relent with coming morning
Will soften with the southern sky
And buds will waken, and open
In a spiral as a hand unclasps
And release us, who stand pacing
From a winter long over
From a season long past.


Daily Haiku IV:That Dream

it reads:
He sat bolt upright
Distant birds waking from sleep
It was Saturday.

The Orator Speaks of his Chains

it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
The ugliness we see I feel
Is now beyond our taking,
In wall, in hall, in hull, in wheel
Our perception it is breaking;
A frame will never save our mark
A light will not restore it
No greenery, no lake or park
Can cause us to ignore it.
What are the things we made in love
Even if that love it be broken;
The things alike the things above
These things must be awoken.
A child cannot but watch and wait
For authority to move;
But when the pow'rs repudiate
This act it does behoove:
What policy which once was made
To halt destructive greed
With its seeds also were laid
A theology of need;
Now all are sinners, all alike
And all alike imprisoned
No jailbreak and no gen'ral strike
Can free those now envisioned.
Instead we wait, the last of all
Bound by our foolish word
Until someone great erect a wall
And raise high the brazen sword.


Daily Haiku III: Monitor

it reads:
See these bright windows
A paint which makes its own light
Pale faces watching.

The Orator Summons the Arms

it is addressed thusly:
A vision
it reads:
The dreams last long in these coming days
Each sound a song more distant making
Our life more sleep, more full of haze
Of time we keep before waking?
Thin, thin are they, these boundaries
Made for our way, for our keeping
A paper-wall's thickness; but a breeze
Could put them all to slowly creeping

There is nothing in them I mean
They are thin like plastic wrapping
Suffocating, the sealed have been
Contained and Spring is napping
In that time and space it alone is free
To be many days and then yet later
No twenty-first, we soon will see
At worst we are made its waiter;

We must prepare before the time
And so prepare before preparation
Each boundary is more than a line
A space between each station
Still we cram it all within the room
We make the wall but thinner
And thin it is, though silence loom
Did it bring us closer together?

This soundless morn is not in peace
No brazen horn to sound its coming
A silence from when breath does cease
A dream of death is humming, is humming
Is this the sound the piper plays
At last come round for every dime?
Awake then souls and fill this place
Before it tolls, the time of time.


Daily Haiku II: Counterpoint

it reads:
The lines we were drawing
Not pencil, but elegance
In each breath passing.

The Song at the Window

it is addressed thusly:
A song.
it reads:
While we sat, through wired glass
The morning that watched us grew
Not warm light as the hall we knew
Was it gray in sight or did, alas
Gray make true the face to pass
Each morning through our window
Our repast undimmed, it had seemed
Would be silver-rimmed, as I dreamed
Under silver cloud, with gold below
More time allowed us to speak
And laugh merry, as if to keep
The morning tarrying at our door --
How unnatural it does appear
That sunfall would be so drear
Unto mere flickering of fluor?
But season-seasoning must be
In quiet accord with star and sea
In a word, the gray morning would pass
While we sat, through wired glass.


Daily Haiku, I: Diner

it reads:
The hair from his soup
Drawn long, fine, his face is red
For it is his own.


it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
Is man heart or brain, or belly full
Again, again, such trivia be
To miss a point, as if to pull
A sore defeat from a victory

For all three flow, into each other go
Above, below to confusion?
The ruler then, did you know
Must begin beyond their fusion?

Eye and hand and foot and tongue
All understand this desire
To direct it all, as in the young
But each we call a liar;

If man only were his blood or mind
He would be, one of the three
Growth may go, but man you'll find
In his Hierocentricity.
a postscript is here written:
II, [...] the center is not merely a geometric point center. It is an arrangement, in its own right, [...] It is an actual gathering together of the structure of space, which forms a pocket or field effect that we best describe by calling it "a center." Further, this [...] centeredness occurs in greater or lesser degree in different centers -- some are stronger than others. And the strength or degree of centeredness of any one center comes about because space has been shaped in such a way as to make this centeredness visible, and strongly felt.



it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
The cobbled stones that paved the ways
The walls of homes and ev'ry block
The mountain tall to split the rays
Beside its wall, the massive rock
And each beside, as Swift averred
With it to reside, but not as fleas
Look now around, you who preferred
To squint at the ground; to espy the seas
You will soon find the sibling size
Of each in kind is not as we believe
Atom and star will not make you wise
So far from ratio-relatavity.
a postscript is here written:
I, "Our common assumption about a universe made of large jumps in scale, is not borne out in complex systems."


The Patient Trees

it is addressed thusly:
An ode
it reads:
The leaning trees, whose budding leaves
Suggest a lazy crowd that believes
Slouching left and right in rainy light
Which comes and goes with every slight
Where overlaps, do the evergreens perhaps
Upon one another with sighs collapse
That the rain may go, or will it snow --
Only these patient trees will know.