It has come to my attention that the numbering of the haikus was off by two. The people responsible for numbering the haikus have been sacked. The numbering has been redone at great expense and at the last minute.
#305: 11/2/2015
Changing of the clocks!
We solemnly move back hands.
Time doesn’t notice.
#306: 11/2/2015
Black-and-orange pile –
Halloween decorations,
purpose extinguished.
#307: 11/3/2015
Voting: the fusion
of will with vox populi –
out of many, one.
#308: 11/4/2015
Cold apple cider,
no spice, no ice, plain round glass.
Laid-back November.
#309: 11/5/2015
A sky of dark rags
on a rose-petal blanket
lights up silently.
#310: 11/6/2015
Will this year die, too?
Joining its billion colleagues
in the whisper-dark?
#311: 11/8/2015
Voices, colors, lines.
Simple stories, simply told.
Take me somewhere bright.
#312: 11/8/2015
Midnight’s grandchildren
tiptoe in at six o’clock
under winter’s gaze.
#313: 11/9/2015
Brown mouse, shivering,
probes October air. Sniff, sniff.
Small life is life still.
#314: 11/10/2015
Knowledge is power!
(If it’s the kind of knowledge
that gives you power.)
#315: 11/11/2015
The eleventh day
of the eleventh month. A
good word, “armistice.”
#316: 11/12/2015
Light hours, heavy hours.
Light heart, heavy heart. Balance
comes and goes like fog.
#317: 11/13/2015
Green-and-yellow leaves
shudder, dive, and re-ascend,
clutching valiant twigs.
#318: 11/16/2015
Three and a half hours.
Not enough time for sleeping
or for waking up.
#319: 11/16/2015
Mice creep in, driven
by dark frost to our home’s warmth;
our reason also.
#320: 11/16/2015
Hard news and short words.
Dishwasher hums. It knows of
bleak work, of cycles.
#321: 11/17/2015
If my secrets and
your secrets were the same – oh,
what a waste of walls.
#322: 11/18/2015
Nooses and schedules
tighten. Rope supports or kills.
Careful with the tools.
#323: 11/20/2015
Nurses trump wizards;
drugs work better than magic;
hospitals grant life.
#324: 11/20/2015
Enjoy your new couch.
Get the shipping-box cardboard,
enjoy your new fort.
#325: 11/23/2015
First snow of the year,
pale frosting spread thin over
a vast chocolate cake.
#326: 11/23/2015
Beer, friends, birthday cake,
and colored pencils. Party
for former children.
#327: 11/23/2015
New couches arrive.
See them now, waiting aloof,
daring you to sit.
#328: 11/24/2015
Washer runs again,
resurrected without fuss,
chanting not required.
#329: 11/25/2015
Oh, yeah. Uh-huh. Hm?
Mm, mm-hm. Ah, yes, indeed.
Well then! Very good.
#330: 12/1/2015
Fading afternoon
surrenders reluctantly
to evening’s triumph.
#331: 12/1/2015
Dormant Christmas tree
lies fragmented on carpet,
awaiting our hands.
#332: 12/1/2015
Flannel shirt’s repose:
no arms, buttons, or collar;
just a pile, cat-like.
#333: 12/1/2015
Americans love
French snails, Italian sports cars,
and British sitcoms.
#334: 12/1/2015
Don’t ask a cheese block
if you’re crazy. Silence is sad,
but a “no” is worse.
Brian D. Buckley 