I stand in cool green
heart raging against evil
a prayer rises up
Audio: Read by the author.
Tag Archives: green
Haiku for Monday morning
the green wall is back
trees working hard through the night
birds seek their shelter
The Scarf
The eye sees silk,
watered green perhaps,
hanging loose over
oiled bamboo, and waits
for a breath to set it floating.
A sail slowly calling to the skin,
conjuring weightless cover
settling without fanfare,
suddenly warm when it rests
on cheek, or arms, or flanks,
then sparking shivers as
a hand pulls it slowly away.
Reconciliation
I still wear it on my skin,
to conjure touch, intensely green
as if emeralds had visited,
every nerve end bathed in
the musk of an old perfume.
A hand there, and there,
thoughts bent down to mine.
Walls all twilight, music
tracing curves, the beat
of time slowed to gray,
and wanting it endless.
Haiku for early light with notes
slanting through green woods
sly streaks of sun appearing
in the textured dark
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Seeing early sun glance through woods from a window I leave the house to search. Finding beam’s end is morning’s reward.
the green veil
a scrim of green now masks the woods
and blankets its recycling brown
and fading winter tale
with upstart life rolled out
to mountain slopes
I know are there
another green veil lives
across the timegone paths
that memories illuminate
backlighting those
just out of reach
until we call them close
a flash of thought
to pierce opaque divides
and fill the mind’s eye arms
then hold them quiet and at peace
sweet moderation’s gift
remembering
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A poem for 5/8, mother’s day. The photo was actually taken much later in summer, when I was shooting the morning mist that comes off my garage roof after the sun comes over the mountain arm, and a series of remarkable night-built spider’s webs in the trees (one is faintly visible on the right).
countdown
there is movement
in the daily flow of green
to full on spring
as bud fists loosen grips
or fern nubs thrust up clumpy heads
and hillsides morph to verdigris
reminding me of childhood nights
spent time-stretched
jumping tick to tock
wrapped in wild impatient
longing for the morning
and its gifts to come
in truth the journey
through that wait
or days lived blossomless
are weighted to the same degree
because this moment’s beauty is
the only certainty we have
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a shortling for 5/5. spring has been excruciatingly slow this year for us. yet even as we creep along, just knowing the apple tree will blossom, or the lilacs bloom, is such a gift.
haiku for shifting up
spring kept pace with sludge
now it’s pedal to the metal
life is greening fast
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Day 18.
haiku for green champagne
green is rising fast
froths of spring arrive daily
from the wetland floor
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NaPoWriMo Day 13. walked with the dogs in my favorite wetland today.
haiku for nearly
each day brings more green
apple tree buds grow fatter
the bear is nearby
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Day 12. each day brings us closer to an explosion of green. there are five bears up on the mountain flanks behind Bear Farm. they tend to visit this time of year.
really
outside my door the guard has changed
a day of wet and gloomy gray
whisked off by racing clouds
abdicated winter steps in minuet retreat
the sullen blue gray glow of rained on slate
is caught by short lived slants of morning sun
and wind, a small all-hands treetop voice
is loath to roar (for now)
the dripping cloak that wraps this house
begins to dry and shed small gleams
the morning raven fly by
lacking winter urgency
green daffy blades push up
brash in return, migrating from the soil
no longer threatened accidents
almost time to prune and clear a way
for the celadon and smell of spring
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I’m mindful that March in New Hampshire is fickle, and for a good long while snow will be a possibility. the path to spring is never straight up here.
Life With Horace 