February 25, 2017


The old country bridge, where I ran out of gas, was on the verge of collapse.  Stepping nervously from the car, the planks squeaked under my feet.  I gauged the speed of the river below and wondered where I'd wash up.

baby steps
the pitter patter
of thunder

Akitsu Quarterly Winter 2016 

February 18, 2017


He was a rough and tumble artist, cut from the Bukowski cloth.  A two-fisted drinker, he rattled off poems late in the night when the madness overcame him.  His bloodshot eyes spoke to the fire that burned from within and from which he, finally, burnt out.

A small, but steady, group of pilgrims continue to visit his grave.  There are times, they claim, they can feel the heat of his spirit.

summer's end
shovelling ash
from the pit

Haibun Today Sept 2016

February 10, 2017

White Noise

"Bells on the backpack," she says, "will keep the bears away."  I listen, a little sceptically.  They would also let them know we're here.  I prefer the route of silence - slipping through the forest, ninja style.

coyote cry
I stub my toe
on a root  

Failed Haiku 1.8

February 05, 2017

Double A

I toss up a rock, hit it with a stick.  This time it lands half way across the river.  I toss another.  Strike one.  I'll never be ready for Opening Day.

spring training
her dad catches me
stealing second

Failed Haiku 1.7

dust devils, The Red Moon Anthology of English-Language Haiku 2016