Visual Poetry from Bones 21 and 22

 

Wobble

In the front pew I sit awaiting my parents. Before me is a huge old cross to which a wooden Jesus is nailed. I examine His outstretched arms, the way His head hangs down. My atheist uncle says death on a cross comes through asphyxiation. There’s no way, he argues, that Jesus called “Why hast Thou forsaken me?” while choking to His death.

The Pastor’s hand on my shoulder startles me. He meets my eye, then looks up to that same cross. “What’s amazing,” he says while pointing with his Bible, “is that everything inside this Book is true.”

My parents arrive as the service begins. As much as I try to pay attention, I get distracted when the Pastor clears his throat.

afternoon sun …

my shadow and I

the same length 

Haiku Canada Review Feb 2020

Contemporary Haibun 16

The New Post-Literate March 2020

 

Otoliths 60

 

The New Post-Literate, November 2020

 

a slow afternoon

my mind starts

to drift

with the traffic

passing outside

The Bamboo Hut, Fall 2019

replacing the sound

of passing traffic

a small

convention

of birds

Presence 67

a cool breeze

pushes its way

through my window—

the chill

of self-isolation

Frameless Sky 12

almost noon,

my son’s still asleep—

I open

the blinds

on his dreams

Under the Basho, 2020

the company proposes

a fresh round

of layoffs—

I make myself small

at my desk

The Bamboo Hut, No. 3, 2020

along with

his backpack

after the loss

I carry my son’s

disappointment

The Bamboo Hut No. 3, 2020

what can I offer

this Coke bottle

world?

the hollowed out

song of a breeze

Sonic Boom 18

I grow a small beard

for my fiftieth

birthday—

the moon lights

a grey, stubbled field 

Presence 68

winter produce...

the grocer imports

fruit flies

Modern Haiku 51.3

mountain trail...

a bear crosses

my mind

tinywords 17.2

afternoon nap...

a lawnmower

cuts it short

The Heron’s Nest, December 2020

a slow day at work,

I peek out the window

watch

as the snow

fills my thoughts

Presence 66

day moon ...

a red-winged blackbird

circles back 

The Heron’s Nest Sept 2020

impatient,
I await her 
response to my text …
a fly hovers over 
the fruit bowl 

Ribbons, Winter 2020

river path ...
a growing crowd

of loners 

Presence 67