A continuation of the Haiku of Summer challenge (see first month here).
#34 — 7/24/18
House full of darkness
before dawn, warm and waking,
murmurs of night’s end.
#35 — 7/25/18
To the spider who
overnight spun a nest tied
to a parked car: Sorry!
#36 — 7/26/18
The wind stomps around
slapping flags, shaking their stripes,
tugging them to life.
#37 — 7/27/18
Motions of routine
inaugurate each sunrise,
put each moon to bed.
#38 — 7/31/18
Cool cantaloupe sky
opens ripe and clean, over
roofs and brick chimneys.
#39 — 7/31/18
Now I hear my wife
upstairs: hair dryer, footsteps.
Geese go by outside.
#40 — 7/31/18
Daytime miracles —
having good work and good food,
inhaling the breeze.
#41 — 7/31/18
Wires and LEDs
slither and flash like pale vines
and clouded starlight.
#42 — 8/1/18
Early afternoon
settles uncomfortably
on a floating house.
#43 — 8/3/18
Evan points upward
and shouts “Mmm!” Sewn on the sky,
bright button: the moon.
#44 — 8/3/18
Empty coffee mug.
Empty yard awaits the rain.
Patience for fullness.
#45 — 8/5/18
Snow-ribbed mountainside
naps serenely over trees;
desktop wallpaper.
#46 — 8/5/18
Storm of joy and gifts,
thunder of barking and tears.
Weekend winds recede.
#47 — 8/6/18
Voices in the car
flow calmly from radio.
Crickets when I park.
#48 — 8/7/18
Ten thousand small tasks
clamor like minnows for time.
Whales dive deep, unseen.
#49 — 8/8/18
Child cries: four-forty.
Overcast. He clings to me.
Love dawns before light.
#50 — 8/10/18
Below horizon
or behind clouds? I can’t say
where the moon’s hiding.
#51 — 8/10/18
Beep, beep! Toast is done.
Brittle and crunchy and brown
like deep-August grass.
#52 — 8/11/18
Yesterday raindrops
fell in the sunshine, scattered
and bright, striking me.
#53 — 8/14/18
Map of the planet
hangs from wall — five billion years
summarized in ink.
#54 — 8/14/18
Small trees, leaning trees,
wait spring to fall, fall to spring:
sighing obelisks.
#55 — 8/14/18
Meteor plunges,
dies in the dark among peers.
I watch silent fire.
#56 — 8/15/18
Low, fluttering bird
circles strangely … now I see.
Low, fluttering bat.
#57 — 8/16/18
Indecisive rain
dampens yard, sputters and halts.
Sleep calls me back in.
#58 — 8/21/18
Waking at midnight,
not sure why, or what to do.
Shadows thick as fog.
#59 — 8/21/18
Room of sleepy ghosts.
Pale reflection in window
obscures the peach tree.
#60 — 8/21/18
Restless, my son stirs
on gray monitor, goes still
again. Cricket-song.
#61 — 8/21/18
Starlight races down.
Multitrillion-year journey
thwarted by shingles.
#62 — 8/21/18
Flowers in glass jar
lean on each other mutely.
It is time for bed.
Brian D. Buckley 