But Wait, There's More!
butwait.blogspot.com || At least one haiku I am comfortable sharing. Every day.
January 31, 2014
late night drive home —
who will choose the songs
we sing along to?
January 30, 2014
she remembers
putting up the mailbox flag
meant something to share
January 29, 2014
front yard bunny
shows us where the front stoop
needs shoveling
January 28, 2014
he smiles, circling back
until we’ve all become
part of the chorus
(How you will be missed, Pete Seeger!)
January 27, 2014
admiring
dawn’s easy alchemy —
gold every time
January 26, 2014
after the storm
I can’t stop thinking about
what might have been saved
January 25, 2014
January 24, 2014
worn down by the day —
even the moonlit snow
gets on my nerves
January 23, 2014
ice invisible
from every angle but one —
awaiting her answer
January 22, 2014
all laced up, but
the ice-calmed lake is still
not safe for skating
January 21, 2014
innumerable
branches now outlined in white
as if for counting
January 20, 2014
such sweet abandon…
letting go of plans and then
doing it again
January 19, 2014
winter layers —
appreciating the moon
behind clouds and trees
January 18, 2014
made bold by moonlight,
we sneak open the door
to watch his angel face
January 17, 2014
watching the stars
from the corner of her eye —
ambiguous kiss
January 16, 2014
absent memory —
the older sister explains
how it was again
January 15, 2014
during apartheid
we learned N’kosi Sikeleli —
I still sing it
January 14, 2014
underfoot
the hard wobble of acorns —
we all had first steps
January 13, 2014
the lake freezes
then thaws again —
do the fish notice?
January 12, 2014
no one can tell
which of these singing birds
was born just this spring
January 11, 2014
wordlessly watching
a dark swirl of birds
stir the morning fog
January 10, 2014
choked with ice
the river jumps its banks —
she calls me at work
January 09, 2014
the smell of snow
and the feel of chicken pox —
long ago winter
January 08, 2014
at day’s end
high above our cold-bowed heads
the moon no one saw
January 07, 2014
amber dusk —
he turns his hearing aid off
to watch the sun slide
January 06, 2014
the last storm came for
trees that were ready to go —
save math for morning
January 05, 2014
how we will hold on
to any story that feels
like ours
January 04, 2014
under a snow drift,
their colors forgotten —
front yard azaleas
January 03, 2014
after the snowstorm
birds and trees showing through —
just the one canvas
January 02, 2014
imagining
small birds for whom tonight’s snow
is the first ever
January 01, 2014
singing to himself,
our boy sets something right
in the rest of us
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