I am most inclined to write haiku in winter. Some are keyed to nature only; mostly, or so it seems, I’m interested in the places where the human person finds and creates conflict–with nature, with their own nature.
#5
what to call the one
earwig on the kitchen wall—
a pest? or bereft?
*
another near miss —
an all-too-white weasel crosses
the road — some slow down
December 2023
*
ear buds, hat snugged, sun
glasses the ice on asphalt—
arms out for old friends
December 2023
*
this morning’s first fire–
the tossed-on leaf a red urge
to fist its dead heart
Posted March 22, 2024
*
the fox faces me—
mocks the rumor of a fence
a spirit slips through
Posted March 21, 2024
the wind-riven snow
breaks the willow’s bare limbs—
leaving on spring melt
*
the cheeky squirrel
hides pine seeds where the hens scratch—
what future thanks him?
Posted Equinox 2024
*
elk people the field—
the gold-tasseled grass a fire
every breath catches on
*
a weasel shot through
white against sparrow-winged leaves
a hen turns over
*
morning’s testament
the busy work of of gophers
unearthed the dead roots
*
The three last haikus were published by the Jackson Hole Poetry Box in November 2023
blackhen 