the fiddle player eyes shut, he senses music sweats out glissandos February sun another easy winter black shadows and mud Hass called it sacred– the struggle of facing doom each frigid blizzard old goddesses pelting us with snow showers, ice pellets
To soften your heartyou must tunnel to its paincrack its bitter shellgreet the light that fills its spaceaccept what it illumines. Enough of the past!It displaces my focus–birches embracing. I sit at my desk.So many poems to studywith a slow laptop.
With haiku, I want the third line to hit you in your solar plexus and sink. I suppose I will need to write a thousand before I learn how. Shamanic healing / those who invade my psyche / find themselves expelled The life of a crone / I think of former lovers / and breathe…
Reviewing my lifeFollowing the river’s pathI trust its purpose
Today I found a senryu while walking outside. This is my favorite way to write, but so far it only works with very short forms. Nearing seventy–what of it? I’m still a childbreathing with the trees.