ow

bleeding freely red
against the rich, dark compost
stitches not needed

cloudburst

bright mid afternoon
into which comes a cloudburst
and washes the sky

defrosting

slowly, the puddle
grows, signaling the sudden
need to defrost fridge

crabby

golden french fries sit
beside two large lumps of lump
crabcakes for summer

Sharpsburg

from different eras
three soldiers walk out of past
and down empty street

ginger

bite of ginger orange
balances against the sour tang
of creamy yoghurt

4 am

beyond, a rumble
on the map green and yellow
push through the area

thunderstorm

promised since weekend
but never manifested
cooling thunderstorms

alas

from balmer the call
surgery again, next week
more ret'na torture

tuesday

the sun emerges
bringing a pounding headache
time for a nice nap

bok choi and broccoli

a medley of greens,
tasty bok choi and broccoli
dark green on jadite

greens

overwhelmed by green
i prepare waffle iron for
chard experiment

pick-ups

turnips, carrots, chard
parade for us at Clagett
a beauty contest

dutifully, i
fill my cooler with crisp greens
and tick off my share

tangy mustards snap
tastebuds awake, no longer snoozing
from dry morning toast


a round, green eye stares
annoyed cat behind grey mesh
on his way to home

evening commute

leaving the office
two birds tussle in ginko
squalling for supper

at the bridge, two deer—
please don't leap at my fender,
i like it complete.

halfway home, small shape,
tail straight up, chipmunk scurries
rushing home itself

a mile or so left,
brown feathers swoop across road,
the young eagle perches

oil slick

listen to npr
tears gather at bp story
coastal destruction

soul slicked with oil, as
hard to breathe, as for oysters
and smothered shore life

twang

grumbling and tense
i check messages and find
a google-y guitar

despite frustrations
serial google-y creations
always make me smile

home again home again

all day, mad running
deep in one conversation
then run to the next

home empty, bed bare,
without cat or companion,
home and self echo

homeward bound

An overcast sky
echoes my grey reflections:
I am homeward bound.

X marks the spot, with
abstract heiroglyphs, contrails,
man scratches the sky

restless

Beside me you snore,
a gentle growl as i toss
and watch you sleep on.

red rock

starkly in contrast
chartreuse lichens wiggle, blotch
fiercely red sandstone

a riot of color
blue sky wisps with marestail clouds
o'er bright sandstone walls

At night, nude girls leer
behind the stage. Smoke haze blurs
the musicians' songs.

two friends and some thread

Baguette and nunchucks

Mr. Frenchie and Ninja

Our alter egos.

UGH

so stressed; need to get
three thousand miles away
for some perspective

like a bunch of twigs
my spine, my soul, feels brittle
so ready to snap

office politics

grace under pressure
i wonder what that's like as
i shoot off my mouth

5.30 am

a cardboard box lid
resembles cat vomit seen
without my glasses

cannot sleep again.
is it my new lot to awaken
with hurting stomach?

is it my body
keeping me from a sound sleep,
or the stress of work?

starting to wonder
if it might not be so bad
to not have a job

long day

another long day,
at last mile home I spy
red fox crossing road

From zero to many

So confused: days passed

and I saw no new haiku.

Now they are here. Huh?

staff cuts

more cuts of colleagues,
yet money for execs. sooooo,
who will do the work?

flux

through office window
the sun shines brightly, while in
the office storms toss

mother's day

mom makes for family
cream of crab soup and crab cakes
but can't make peace

17 more

Oui, oui, I'll add one.

Here in France thinking: we must

keep writing haiku.

wind!

idle tresses lift
the wind plays havoc with hair
and with dancing trees

MVA

Friday, MVA
is it third circle of Hell
or just the lobby?

piratz party

chatting with Yermo;
while he waxes on bike trip,
'ratz party on deck

no walking the plank
rather, tequila dixie
cup offering made

Tame pirates party.
We chat in dark corner on
Yermo at Deale's Gap.

lost id

carded at the brick
my lost ID discovered
but not regained

tues

back in the office
like a plunge into ice water
return to deadlines

monday

a slow morning start
followed by mac and cheese
and then a parting

tilghmans

wiggly in water
W+W
reflects M+M

a patchwork of rust,
plywood, miscellaneous
scrap: Crow Brothers II

oyster boats in dock—
deadrise, tonger, or draketail—
gather rust and rest

at glen echo

atop "Pop Corn"
paleolithic Pac Men
are guarding Glen Echo

hot

on Thursday morning
we had a frost warning. Now,
it's ninety degrees.

leaving work early
to drive to BWI
and not get a flat

from the hot sunlight
into the arctic a/c
for a sweet crab cake

hats and heels

lined up politely
elegant women and men
here for a funeral

at ninety-two years
still able to walk a hill
like she walked Selma

windy

sudden gusts pulling
at my clothing like wayward
little puppy dogs

4 am

at 4 am, rain.
waves echo in dream hotel.
i shudder off sleep.

echoes for monday

inside, the waves roil,
filling my ears with their wild
music, beckoning

the inner ocean
pushes out office panic
and deadline headache

wading

secretly, i bring
the shore back: salt wind in hair,
sand between my toes.

white rocks, quartz pebbles,
and grey heart-shaped stone find their
way into pocket

wet feet

The tide ebbs, pulling
my soul eastward, swallows dive
and swoop overhead.

feet firmly rooted,
and yet, inexorably,
ebbing waves pull east


feet wet in eastern
ocean, my spirit roams west
to you in desert

sputter coff start

after insomnia
ye gods —don't think i can face
the office morning

feet dragging, eyes puff'd
spine aches and creaks, brain sputters
and makes excuses

time for a cuppa
darjeeling, chai, or earl grey?
brew morning petrol

adrift

a soft morning, fog
parts way before my footsteps
yielding subtle myst'ry

my thoughts, cast off
adrift in the breeze, the sun,
motes of self elsewhere

rain

achey rain descends
upon a cranky city
honk grumble moan

cool damp musty
rain transforms the world to a
limitless basement

yellow motes swirling,
grainy particulate sea
maple, oak, poplar

monday

no sunbathing, beer,
athletic activities
on the Bishop's Lawn

oak pollen

small yellow pom-poms
accumulate around my feet
pollen spread by steps

saturday, birthday party

Robert sits enthroned
Connor refuses ice cream
Wyatt wants to bounce

birthday party hides
in an industrial park
for nephew Robert

friday, back at hopkins

how much is enough?
at what point hope exhausted?
can she take much more?

such tiny damage
causes impact out of scale
on multiple lives

hopkins

four hours behind
waiting in Hopkins OR
for mom's seventh op

above mom's gurney
fake sunlight streams down on us
providing faux cheer

small medium large
grapes ready to be plucked from
their paper nest

evening drive

red eyes glow in the night
driveway reflectors gleaming
enshrouded in fog

tuesday

the rain brings cool air
grey wetness seeps thru my brain
making thoughts mushy

monday

a little coughing.
at first, but ultimately,
the little car runs

sunday

fair temperatures
with sun and a nice cool breeze
makes for good walking

saturday

three boys in the sun
two playing with bats and gloves
and wyatt runs amok

friday

living carousel
park police lead their horses
round picnic table

thursday

just chugging along
catching up, transferring files;
it's back to work

wednesday

unseasonably
ninety degrees in april
tree pollen to boot

how long will it stay
if in pollen i inscribe
my name and the date

back to work

oh this can't be good
that noise my hard drive's making
just cannot bode well...

the day started rough
rumors of guns on campus
but just foolish boys

travel monday

airport air is stale;
full of cell chat, flight calls, and
clank of slot machines

easter sunday

fancy shirt glows blue
amid egyptian hazards
deep inside king putts

deeply engrossed with
googley eyes and textures
a fine day's shooting

saturday

with seedy beauty
faded pop-u-luxe hotels
dying on freemont

yellow buildings:
bail bonds, tax law, on a tour
scattered throughout city

good friday

the internet lags
messages from work arrive
too late for effect

a homemade breakfast
a girl could get used to this
tea, bacon, and eggs

tour of dusty shops
chatting, exploring the past
in good company

flat tire

so close to airport
i can smell the fumes, should i
abandon the car and walk?

an epic blow out
if your going to do it
at least be thorough

ugh

friends in need today
but i don't know how to help
feeling quite useless

insomnia

cant sleep. not sure if
it's pollen, stress, or the
impending weekend

best seat in the creek

a delicate perch
precarious among rocks
a picnic table

froggy went a-courtin'

from darkening woods
the spring peepers sing their song,
"pick me! pick me! me!"

who?

mid cent'ry modern
ice bucket pierces me with
a metallic stare

cranky

I'm out of control—
can you still call it road rage
if you're at a desk?

the rain starts

rain against windows--
drops chatter, flicking wet tongues
hard against glass panes

the yellow stuff

No foolin', you know that
I'm all for trees and whatnot,
but pollen must go.

I swear, I can feel
the structure of each wee grain
with my inflamed eyes

trailblazing

ants in yellow hats
work roadside in rock creek park
restoring old trails

a fine mesh covers
the surface of the creek with
a net of bubbles

dazed

up since three am,
the world is slightly glazed,
krispy kreme lenses.

sunday

alas, too too soon
the weekend passes and it's
monday once again

for saturday

distracted by sun,
and by charming company,
poems aren't timely

for thursday, friday

"a day late and a
dollar short" with seventeen
syllables for thurs.

on days like today,
"make hay while the sun shines" is
more than a proverb

green

i AM wearing green,
gosh darnit, shoes do so count
for St Patrick's Day

warm

it seems sudden,
a swinging switch in seasons,
certainly springtime!

monday

today it seemed
a weekful of mondays was
crammed into one day

Sunday

shrimp po'boy and beignet,
cafe conversations with
mom and the rain

spring forward

daylight savings time—
change the clock at 2 am
on a rainy night

earthworms

"earthworms are easy,"
or so the 80s song says,
dancing in the rain

thursday

i can't get started
supremely unmotivated
total inertia

snowdrops

where Sunday was snow
today crisp snowdrops blossom
amid cool shadows

ghost salt

with my shadow hands
i catch a robin's shadow
in the morning sun

fridge

grey avocado,
spinach going transparent,
destined for compost

Sunday

spent the day today
doing nothing, quite lazy
and unrepentant

red

to stave off future
i henna my hair, again,
and do my sit-ups

spring

black dots squiggle
and dance around my bathtub:
the damn ants are back.

honk honk

a tattered grey skein
canada geese snag oak tops,
tangled song fills sky

5 am

unable to sleep
i watch the moon carve its path
across window panes

rock creek

rich with melt, blue-green,
pools deepen to mossy hues
echoing wet stones

amid white patches
a troupe of robins winnows,
orange sines bob and rise

swaddled

swaddled in cotton,
a waning moon murmuring
its muffled message

For Megan

Tulips, you hold fire

in your petals, hot beauty

fighting winter's cold.

in like a lion

seasons marching forth
a gap in the snow and wind
could spring be coming?