Friday, April 20, 2018

Under trees searching
I make my way up river
blue heron watches
I see snow running
enticing gorgeous sunlight
I feel it's a lie
snow filling our tracks
we trudge on through winters grip
walking with my son
white lines fill my view
flashing lights on horizon
riding through a storm
sitting among trees
patches of white like fungus
It won't go away
stuffies lay like dead
paper flowers sit atop
looking at my desk
Lack of Haiku due to lack of finding them.
I prefer wild Haiku
Radio singing
I think about poetry
looking at snow hurts
white lines on rust green
pine boughs heavy with sadness
maples are bleeding

Tuesday, April 3, 2018

scraping of shovels
streets like black ink on paper
walking my damn dog