100 haiku challenge, 56

Grasshopper
No summer haiku.
I compose them in my head
then they leap away.

Coincidence?

What rock is hitting me now?

I hate being told what to do, even when I agree with it.

I'm also really annoyed with people who won't do what I tell them.

Why rock?

"The rock that hit you could not have missed you, and the rock that missed you could not have hit you."
--Sufi saying

Ceci n'est pas une haiku

Yesterday, I tried
to cut the tag from my new scarf
without ripping the fabric,
the tiny stitches defying
the dull blade of what were once
my mother's scissors,
a heavy, stainless steel pair
with chipped enamel handles
and rust-spotted blades.

I keep them in the kitchen,
where they mostly open packages.
They are tough enough
to stab through rigid plastic,
or slice through cardboard,
but not the delicate tool needed
for snipping thread.

I was too rushed, too lazy, too uncaring, too haphazard
to search for my sewing scissors,
the pair with the sharp blades
and the fine points.

Now, I'm searching for a way
to connect this to my mother.
Our relationship like the sturdy scissors,
made to do the rough work families do,
provide for each other,
see our loved ones safe and fed,
but unsuitable for the more refined work
of making each other happy.

Or maybe the connection is this:
That I never learn,
I need to learn,
that my failure to take care,
to get it done, rest later
always ends up tearing the fabric.

100 haiku challenge, 55

It took about a week for this to emerge, but I like this much better than the last grass haiku. Surprise! It arrived while I was cutting the lawn.

Suburban confessional
Forgive me neighbor,
I have sinned. It's been three weeks
since I mowed the lawn.

100 haiku challenge, 54

We let the grass go,
there was no way to mow, so
we weed-whacked it down.

100 haiku challenge, 51, 52, 53

I wrote a few haiku in Esther Short Park the other day. I need to get out at lunchtime more often.

Ering, I've decided to only give the poem a title if one occurs to me. Why force it?

#51
I have monkey-mind,
Thoughts ranging and throwing shit.
The tulips--silent.

Strange conversation
The train horn echoes,
bounces through the park.
The crow caws! in response.

#53
Sun emerges from
behind a cloud, sending light
to warm my bare feet.

100 haiku challenge, 49 and 50!

I shared some of my haiku at writers' workshop this week. One person suggested I start giving them titles.

You're up early to write too?
My neighbor Will walks
by, early Saturday morn,
writing on his brain.

Welcome to May
Azalea blooms pop!
Magenta star-bursts unfold
like party favors.

100 haiku challenge, 48

Allergy season, part 2
Whole world in my eye
Grit, sandbox, dump truck of dirt,
rock chip, in my eye.

100 haiku challenge, 47

I think I like B better.

Why bike boulevards should be closed to cars
Variation A
Honkin' Cadillac
barreling down the bike route
Get out of the way!

Variation B
Honkin' Cadillac
barreling down the bike route
no stops attract goons

100 haiku challenge, 46

Allergy season, part 1
My eye is bloodshot.
The left one, rivers of red.
The right eye, still clear.

100 haiku challenge, 45

Needy poet
Aw, come on, people!
Comment on my darn haikus!
Love 'em or hate 'em.

100 haiku challenge, 44

Hungry for spring
Winter hazel blooms.
Buds burst like popcorn kernels.
Food for wintered eyes.

100 haiku challenge, 42 and 43

Chilly sparrow
Little bird on fence,
the wind ruffles your feathers,
warming the new spring air.

Bela and Wyley
Old dog and old cat.
Whine, grumble, stretch, snoring sleep.
But love--never old.

100 haiku challenge, 41

Goodbye, old friend
You dropped off my things.
Dog-eared book, other junk,
left by the back door.

100 haiku challenge, 40

It used to be a bigger deal
Last time, I forgot
Leap year. Will I remember
next time? I doubt it.

100 haiku challenge, 38 and 39

I'm not done with this one yet. Here are two iterations.

#38
Dream: a museum.
The archives of a writer--
typewriters and shoes.

#39
Dream: a reflection.
Archive of a writer's things--
typewriters and shoes.

100 haiku challenge: 36 and 37

Spring is coming, slowly, slowly. Many of the haikus these days are about my longing for light and warmth.

Also, this week, I've encountered several people who have disagreed with me and cut me off, without asking for clarification or more information first. It's aggravating. So I wrote a haiku to remind myself not to do it to others.

#36
Here is what I've learned:
When you think you disagree,
ask more questions first.

#37
New growth emerges.
Pale green-white from wintered wood.
Hurry, we whisper.

100 haiku challenge, 33, 34, 35

Airplane to Austin
The end of the flight
Stale air, foul breath, smells like farts.
People are stinky.

Voted best honky-tonk in Texas
At the Broken Spoke
Two steppin', honky tonkin'.
Everyone's happy.

Return trip
My heart is two sides
of a rubberband. One here,
the other stretched home.

100 haiku challenge, 32

#32
My dog smells like this:
Salty, warm, like untouched earth.
Soothes the stress away.