Haiku 365: May

#122: 5/4/2015
Eating ice cream straight
from the carton. Keeping it
classy, Buckley-style.

#123: 5/4/2015
Re-painting the fence.
Body gets to be outside,
mind wanders. Win-win.

#124: 5/4/2015
History, symbols,
mythology, and Carl Jung.
Reading addiction!

#125: 5/4/2015
Like the lawnmower,
my mind needs a couple pulls
to start its engine.

#126: 5/5/2015
Night has descended:
whence this dim sunless ghost-light
lingering on high?

#127: 5/6/2015
Slim young apple tree
stands up straight, blossoming pink,
nuzzled by cold fog.

#128: 5/7/2015
Brown leaf on driveway
hunched in its evening shadow
like a surly toad.

#129: 5/9/2015
Focus on haiku.
A helpful wall blocks my view
of dirty dishes.

#130: 5/9/2015
When will the rain come?
How much work before sky-drops
send us scurrying?

#131: 5/10/2015
Morning of yard work,
wearing sunscreen, feeding grass.
Sniff – now I smell green.

#132 – 5/11/2015
The rustling forest
calls at dusk, whispering old
songs, promising charms.

#133: 5/12/2015
The eyes of the wolf
pierce darkness, cleave midnight mist,
apprehend moonlight.

#134: 5/13/2015
A thousand faces
for but a single hero.
Whither his bright blade?

#135: 5/14/2015
Calligraphy needs
steel resolve. Shaky thumbs make
shaky majuscules.

#136: 5/24/2015
Peter’s Neverland,
the looking-glass of Alice:
what realm waits for me?

#137: 5/24/2015
Drifting toward summer,
lazy sunlight and brief nights
welcoming solstice.

#138: 5/24/2015
Eyes of hurricanes,
the Eye of the Sahara.
Earth is watching us.

#139: 5/24/2015
Breathless, unblinking,
frigid angels of the Deep
fear no hook or net.

#140: 5/24/2015
Nickels and a dime
jangle loose in my pocket.
Pipsqueak percussion.

#141: 5/24/2015
Clumsy number eight
could slip on rounded feet, fall,
become infinite.

#142: 5/24/2015
Poets love the moon.
Does it hang in space, august,
judging motley verse?

#143: 5/24/2015
Dear sir or madam:
Do you enjoy short letters?
Sincerely, B. B.

#144: 5/24/2015
Do you make mistakes?
I once vowed to be faultless.
That was a mistake.

#145: 5/24/2015
Deep in the Great Plains,
sea of grass and sea of sky
watch each other dream.

#146: 5/25/2015
Dying smoke alarm,
nestled – where? All day we hunt
that infernal beep.

#147: 5/26/2015
Jealously we guard
our rectangles of trim grass.
Fences loom like walls.

#148: 6/5/2015
Just before midnight:
I’m an isle of consciousness
in a dream-wracked sea.

#149: 6/5/2015
Blind, dark, and heavy,
that was depression. Viscous.
Future’s fluid now.

#150: 6/5/2015
My orange slices
sit on their newly-shed skin
like five plump reptiles.

#151: 6/5/2015
This burned-out light bulb
ought to symbolize something.
Hmm…you work it out.

#152: 6/5/2015
Quoth the raven: “It
might not happen for a while.
But, I mean, who knows?”