haiku
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demolition site the colors of closet walls
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this spring's fragrance were it a woman I'd follow wherever
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sunlit helmet the young soldier's eyes invisible
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twilight— a puff of smoke from a passing train
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bayou moon— the lingering scent of cane whiskey
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ripened tomatoes— the busy shadow of my straw hat
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up with the chickens— bayou sun
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deep winter— red beans one day white beans the next
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winter stars— moth carcasses dot the window screen
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snowstorm— another poem too wordy
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stubbled fields— a fresh coat of snow on a rusted pickup
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winter wind— he says my name with a sigh
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full moon— a swollen tick on the sow’s ear
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washday gossip— curtains flapping in the breeze
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October moon— the shadow of a cypress dapples the headstones
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gibbous moon— the swelling egg sac of a wolf spider
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summer's end— still a little croak left in the bullfrog
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falling leaves— she tells another lie to cover the last
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pouring more coffee into the cup— rain on the bayou
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a face in the nursing home window— filigree moon
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heat shimmer— sinking my teeth into a peach
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detox center— dry curling leaves litter the doorway
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full moon— the old dog’s howl falls into a yawn
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falling leaves— the cemetery almost full
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autumn sunset— one pumpkin left in the field
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Sunday bells the wide-open mouths of sparrow hatchlings
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harvest moon— an owl swoops into a cornfield
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wildflower bouquet— taking the ladybug back outside
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rain on the bayou— just enough moon to silver the ripples
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anniversary— a few weeds in the rose bed
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summer winds— pieces of moon through the willow
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walking the old path in secondhand shoes— new moon
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the scent of sun and rain— first summer peach
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ripened tomatoes— the last colour of sunset
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leaden sky— the weight of the dead sparrow
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a whispering among my kinfolk— wind in the cypresses
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easing into a glass of Merlot moonlight through the pines
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cloud with thunder— the way he says """whatever"""
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approaching storm— the silence between us
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seniors dance the occasional rush of cologne
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plunging a knife into the watermelon— the heat
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end of an affair— the ligustrum tree no longer in bloom
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mother’s day— she wears her best apron to wash the dishes
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windfall apple— eye to eye with the worm that found it first
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summer stars— she tells a lie without blinking
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moonbeams— a clump of mushrooms where the bird's buried
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summer haze— mother's faded notes for dewberry jam
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first blossoms— three speckled eggs in the wren’s nest
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spring rain my tears fall for the nestling the cat gifts me
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spring cold snap— my garden spade turns up half a worm
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moving day— cottonwood seeds drift past my window
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ripening cherries— the cardinal's wife settles deep in the nest
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wildflowers the many voices of a blue jay
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spring chill— one kitten left without a nipple
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ripening apples— unable to button my summer dress
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mile after mile of corral fencing— wind in the clover
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passing cloud— her pause before the lie
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scattered wind fragments of conversation drift from a pub
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spring buds— the first batch of tadpoles in the meadow pond
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long winding road the length of our quarrel
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spring storm— a small blue feather in the cat’s whiskers
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bedtime story— scribbles of rain across the window
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evening coffee— wisps of fog rise from the bayou
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the lilac in bud— a cloud with storm in it swells over the bay
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endless rain without opening a crocus falls
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partly cloudy— I remember the face but not the name
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whiskey moon— a morning after at the bottle’s end
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a lake brimming with mountains— trout ripple the sky
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bus window fog the heart someone left behind
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rusted gate old lilacs blooming for no one
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fly fishing a rainbow arcs across evening
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October wind sweeping cobwebs from the wood pile
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dusty knickknacks mother's whole life on one shelf
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fireworks gone Orion's beauty remains in the stillness
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gathering dusk outside a quayside café fishermen’s lines
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new home she promises me the world in a lilac tree
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ursa major a plane's navigation lights leave the system
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house clearance room by room by room my mother disappears
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rain on the river– when does white become its darkest colour --
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Kirkstone Pass a sheepdog gathers its part of the world
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mistfall the swansongs of orb spiders
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dark news the comfort of crows
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hard frost- the snail-hammerings of a song thrush
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family home the grain of the wood enters his hands
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sleep disorder the gas station lights keep me company
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the half-truths in a well-lit room midnight's rain
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first morning the marks of a moth in old laundry
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a lamb's cry scudding clouds over the cemetery wall
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train whistle a blackbird hops along its notes
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the moon is broken Battersea Power Station from a train window
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Valentine's Day my wife reads up on Henry VIII
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zombie debt- the practised slice of a bread knife
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lullaby of rain another pinch of saffron in the pumpkin soup
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woodfire flickering in the silence corralled horses
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thunder snow the wind-shifting scent of fox
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Gare du Nord the slow change of snow on fake fur
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fighting illness- the darkness before the light of the new year
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bag of beer snail trails leave it from all directions
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sunday lunch the chatter of children among hard drinkers
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the night train passes along the mountain trail garlic snores
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