Fiddlehead Fern Plays An Early Note

Here’s the 7th installment of winter Haikus. My goal: a total of 107 Forest Haikus and mini ‘coyote’ poems over the winter, sharing in groups of 10. (See the others: Cricket’s Eye Point-of-View, Being Stalked By A Forest, Wings Like Boomerangs, My Tent is Leaking Haikus, Always Coming and Going, and Dancing Naked In the Rain)
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IMG_7830Nettles in my cup
eastern light slides over plum
blossoms popping white
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In a morning mood
a choir of coyotes
sing the winter morn
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Early second moon
haikus in the morning frost
jays write them better
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Mushrooms emerging—
A Potawatomi word
has it: puhpowee!
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Pink in the morning
white and yellow with the sun—
daisy eyes open
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Music of the woods
fiddlehead of lady fern
play you on my tongue
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A fiddlehead fern
early note of forest spring
makes a tasty treat
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On the edge of flight
will she jump out of her nest,
Little fledgling moon?
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February moon
caught in the branches again
will she ever learn?
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Cold night, morning frost
only thing hot is my blood
on a low boil
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Mid-winter dream:
liberation by solstice
But first—bad habit

 

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Cricket’s Eye Point of View

cricketHere is the 6th installment of winter Haikus. My goal is to birth a total of 107 Forest Haikus and mini ‘coyote’ poems over the winter, sharing in groups of 10. (See the others: Being Stalked By A Forest, Wings Like Boomerangs, My Tent is Leaking Haikus, Always Coming and Going, and Dancing Naked In the Rain)
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Cold coyote crows
like a mad, laughing rooster
bringing in the new year
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On my boots and mugs,
underneath my everything–
snails hang about
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Rain and Rain and Rain
January comes in threes
Mud and Mud and Mud
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Clouds make the winter
And gives its blessing: crowns mud
King of the forest
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Wonder how I look
from cricket’s eye point of view
atop a tent roof
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Holy fucking blue!
a winter or summer’s dream?
even birds don’t know
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Two eyes from forest
my neck hair standing on end–
I am the hunted
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After three days rain
trails become rivers wide
and walk together
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Midwinter runners–
a momentary thunder
splitting morning peace
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Morning jays jumping
shake light from ancient live oaks
like wintery dreams

A Mind of Its Own

coyoteI attempt an observation,
precise and aloof,
but it runs away to Uruguay
all moody and judgmental

I try to put a hat and tie on it,
daring debonair-
it runs around in its underwear

It starts as a walk in the vacant street-
then pulls all the world aside
to do cartwheels with the kids

A simple ode is simple enough-
one would think

until it props itself up
on a pile of grievances

Or inserts its cheery balm
when a lament is what I ordered

One tear gets you ten,
so serious that something
puts its foot out to trip me
raucous laughter from the bushes

it makes one suspect that
that a poem has a mind of its own
and it’s the mind of coyote

Dancing Naked in the Rain

IMG_7027I’ve been immersing myself in the Japanese masters, Issa, Bashō, Buson, Shiki.

The haiku form is deceptively simple–more difficult than it appears, if you want to abide by some traditional conventions.

My goal is to create a total of 107 Forest Haikus and mini ‘zen’ poems over the winter. I’ll share in groups of 5-10. Here are the first few:

Not the only one
dancing naked in the rain
joined by Mister Newt
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Going on a walk
enjoy your mid-day orgy,
lovely ladybugs
——————————————–
Light from autumn moon
casting shadows from redwoods
across my bald head
——————————————–
November redwoods
an unspeakable silence
jet engine roaring
——————————————–
Look, there’s a rainbow!
covering my shit with dirt,
I’m in awe of both
——————————————–
You dropped some feathers
Mister Peregrine Falcon
I’ll keep them for you
——————————————–
Just a few days old
and walking across the sky
my baby moon
——————————————–
I’m learning some things
Not sure what it is quite yet
leaking in like rain
—————————————-
No protection here
November’s got me knocked up
with baby poems
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Deep autumn sitting
coyote yipping on verge
of liberation

Moon Shadows

IMG_6395Two little lunar poems inspired by our time last night hanging with the moon. I know these words are just fingers pointing, as Rumi said, yet the moon is pointing back.

Turns out we can’t
catch our moon shadows
even if we walk backwards
moonwalking
it follows us
relentlessly
So we play with them
forming hearts with our arms
as if to say:
you too are welcome here

———

this celestial theater
is good company

I feel in my bonds
bonded to her
sitting far away
on the other side of the mountains
bathing in the same light tonight

And to you all
as if mesmerized by a campfire in the sky
remembering what it means
to belong and wonder
Finding our own pace

and to coyote
who at midnight sings his aria
so we join in the lunacy

and to sun
wanting to be with us so bad
reaches out across 93 million miles
and touches the skin of Sister Flower in the garden of the sky

on nights like this
when the moon comes out to play
Loneliness doesn’t exist