Blue

Blue, like nebulae,
Freckled with flares and stardust,
Peaceful glassy globes.

Summer Thunder

Angels’ bowling night,

Or moving cloud furniture

While striking matches.

New Haiku

I pack my suitcase

And before I even blink

I am back again.

76 More Days

Seventy-six more days ’till the wedding date,

And a hundred and ten things still left to do.

There are over a thousand tasks–

And even strangers ask

If they can have an invitation too?

Seventy-six more days of my single state,

And a hundred and ten nerves frayed at the ends.

And yet I’ll trade all of this

For countless years of married bliss,

Time itself will soon make amends.

Excuses Haiku

Paper writing: you’d

Think that by now I’d have learned

To start much sooner.

Tired Haiku

Words in a bottle

Sink in the slow, grey ocean

Waterlogged and blurred

Someday

Someday

you will write a love song

and your voice will be free to sing it

and the decibels will rise and rise until they

shatter the glass encasing the wildly beating thing

whose fractured wings have bruised themselves against

the walls you have built around it and those walls crash down

like a cascade of broken ice when spring has come and

the river at last is free to flow again and you are

free to feel again the murmurs of the love

song you have written and I know

that you will sing again

someday.

Monday Haiku

The alarm goes off

And my first thought is how I’m

So ready for bed.

Grey and Yellow

Grey day, yellow day,

Rough day, mellow day.

Some days you have bills to pay,

Some days someone pays your way.

Some days are on the up and up,

While others tip your coffee cup.

Some days bend you ’till you break,

Others serve you chocolate cake.

Who knows the trials we will face

As members of the human race?

But I believe we’ll  be okay

If you’re the yellow to my grey.

If You’re a Grad Student and You Know It

If you’re groggy and you feel it,

Clap your hands.

If you’re groggy and you feel it,

Clap your hands.

Curfew used to be at 10,

Now we’re up ’till who knows when,

If you’re groggy and you feel it,

Clap your hands.

——-

If your friends have graduated,

Stomp your feet.

If your friends have graduated,

Stomp your feet.

If all your friends are gone,

And you deal with freshmen all day long,

If your friends have graduated,

Stomp your feet.

——-

If you’re gonna flunk your midterms,

Nod your heads.

If you’re gonna flunk your midterms,

Nod your heads.

Don’t care about my GPA,

All I want is my MA.

If you’re gonna flunk your midterms,

Nod your heads.

Puddle Jumping

A tornado warning

in the morning

makes for a cautious day,

a rainbow of umbrellas

feebly joining in the fray

against the wind’s ill-tempered yawning.

Most are huddled ‘neath an awning,

but the ladies and their fellas

share umbrellas

anyway.

Who knows

Who knows what it is–

maybe the smell of perfume or flowers (or

maybe the smell of everyone else’s

perfume and flowers);

maybe it’s the resin dust and

the sound of bellyaching tuning

strings or the experimental

twitterings of clarinets (sounding oh

so very modern); maybe it’s the stars

(oh so very old) or us

(oh so very young) and the dance

that musicless sways us.

Who knows what it is.

Drafting Haiku

 

 

 

After many hours

Of hoping for ten pages,

I only have two. 

Summer Sunset

Soft summer sunrise, I’ll sing you a song,

Now that I stand where my feet belong:

Alongside the ocean,

The breeze at my back,

Where everything’s right and nothing is wrong.

 

Sun in the heavens, you light my way.

Take both my hands, lead me to the day

Down the wild roads

Abreast of the hills.

Your gaze steals my words and my breath away.

 

Star of the twilight, your dancing eyes

Turn my head more than you realize.

I walk in peace,

For the shine of your smile

Gives me new hope as the daylight dies.

 

Soft summer sunset, I’ll sing you a song,

Now that I stand where my feet belong.

Safe in your light

In the magic of night

Where everything’s right—not a thing is wrong.