haiku
stringlengths
5
2.3k
source
stringlengths
1
74
she tells me I missed a beautiful sunrise black no sugar
tempslibres
children's voices who will tell the dandelion it's a weed
tempslibres
her obituary . . . the things we did that summer
tempslibres
a homeless man rises from the sidewalk Easter morning
tempslibres
brightening sky after the eclipse a skylark's song
tempslibres
steady rain a little salt in my beer
tempslibres
crescent moon the new home still full of echoes
tempslibres
first pussy willow I open my notebook of unfinished poems
tempslibres
the curved back of a garden Buddha winter rain
tempslibres
year's end the time it takes a contrail to dissolve
tempslibres
deep in the woods leaves drifting over what used to be a wall
tempslibres
autumn light nobody I know in the obits
tempslibres
autumn leaves I follow their drift
tempslibres
where the carpet is wearing thin autumn sunlight
tempslibres
as old as I feel on a gray morning . . . autumn equinox
tempslibres
evening calm her garden the color of moonlight
tempslibres
awake in the dark the darkness
tempslibres
narrow path I make way for the butterfly
tempslibres
coming home . . . the scent of the ocean before the sound
tempslibres
Labor Day a fly buzzing around the leftovers
tempslibres
poor neighborhood a dog barking at the end of a rope
tempslibres
vacant lot hardly worth a haiku
tempslibres
steady rain where the bookstore used to be
tempslibres
class reunion an old friend's glance at my name tag
tempslibres
Easter vigil candle flames tremble at our breath
tempslibres
just passing through . . . a parking lot where I saw Gone with the Wind
tempslibres
train window the landscape coming to a stop
tempslibres
a furniture store where the church used to be vernal equinox
tempslibres
midnight the silence beyond the streetlight
tempslibres
waving goodnight after the party the chill
tempslibres
the white coffin she was buried in this winter light
tempslibres
first snow a walk through fallen leaves to my childhood
tempslibres
harvest moon the things I have left undone
tempslibres
harvest moon she tells him she's late
tempslibres
downtown pointing the way with her cigarette
tempslibres
twelve years old learning to pronounce Hiroshima
tempslibres
an infant asleep on her mother's lap . . . this heat
tempslibres
the silence around our words . . . fireflies
tempslibres
winter moon a tired old man in the mirror
tempslibres
the laughter of children running uphill . . ; Gettysburg
tempslibres
waiting up for their teenaged daughter . . . distant fireworks
tempslibres
evening rain she lets down her hair
tempslibres
at the end of a long afternoon my faded shadow
tempslibres
awakened by moonlight an old regret
tempslibres
only the wind off the ocean Omaha Beach
tempslibres
a few petals left by the sweeper . . . sunset clouds
tempslibres
locked out I write a haiku about daffodils
tempslibres
another spring who will tell the dandelion it's a weed
tempslibres
powdering the dog a child asks if fleas go to heaven
tempslibres
Valentine's Day shaking the snow from the roses
tempslibres
a toast to the departing year - snow turns to rain
tempslibres
after a storm the absence of a tree
tempslibres
waiting room the steady hum of the fish tank
tempslibres
in the nursing home she talks about the brother no one talks about
tempslibres
the morning sun on grandma's grave first butterfly
tempslibres
writer's block - staring out the window at snowflakes
tempslibres
Easter Sunday the carefully trimmed beard of the young priest
tempslibres
reading the tea leaves . . . the gray in her hair
tempslibres
new moon an orange-eyed opossum eat its dead
tempslibres
the doctor wants to take a closer look . . . coffee gone cold
tempslibres
good news from the cardiologist autumn butterfly
tempslibres
dusting the books I'll read when I have time winter solstice
tempslibres
Indian summer the slug's pneumostome wide open
tempslibres
burning leaves the kiss she'd give before we'd part
tempslibres
dried leaves hurry down the path standard time
tempslibres
sleeping late this autumn morning the bed half empty
tempslibres
crisp wind the taste of the apple just after picking it
tempslibres
night wind the moon in a corner of the window
tempslibres
on the beach by the ancient city sand castle ruins
tempslibres
rain mixed with snow spring equinox
tempslibres
Valentine's Day we let the champagne go flat
tempslibres
her head bent over tea leaves . . . how old she's grown
tempslibres
long winter my wife slows her pace to mine
tempslibres
undressing for bed I find a hole in my sock - the winter wind
tempslibres
returning spring in the dawn light she looks like my first love
tempslibres
morning prayer the patter of rain as I reach amen
tempslibres
teenagers exchanging promises summer's end
tempslibres
75 today I walk through a puddle because I can
tempslibres
her Alzheimer's a dragonfly goes . . . comes
tempslibres
last of his line the year of his death still uncarved
tempslibres
snow falling on the headstones . . . just and unjust wars
tempslibres
petals in the wind my neighbors practice tai-chi in the parking lot
tempslibres
first firefly . . . she asks me to repeat what I just said
tempslibres
first light . . . after the car alarm birdsong
tempslibres
second martini— I like the way she asks me if I twitter
tempslibres
my first bite of persimmon— a trace of Shiki
tempslibres
Holy Week she teaches her grandchild to light a candle
tempslibres
another spring I revise my death poem
tempslibres
winter break I hope I'll be home for the crocuses
tempslibres
garden Buddha morning rain washes away the snow
tempslibres
the age I used to call old . . . winter solstice
tempslibres
quiet Sunday a winter fly too slow to kill
tempslibres
old photo I recognize my father's silence
tempslibres
hard times the car salesman's missing tooth
tempslibres
starry night one firefly after another
tempslibres
Assisi sunset pilgrims gather at a gift shop
tempslibres
city sunset he buys her a rose
tempslibres
red light the bus driver reads his horoscope
tempslibres
flag pin in the salesman's lapel Memorial Day
tempslibres
the soft patter of a computer keyboard midnight solitude
tempslibres