Haiku of anywhere/Haiku de cualquier lugar/Haiku di ovunque


scarse the sparrows

hiding in their grey crannies

waiting for the snow


the silver streetlight

still not on yet but waiting

as the last bird sings


rain on the windshield

fog on the blackened road

are we here yet?


a vagrant sparkle

as boats collect the north wind

in their bulging sails


the green clouds settle

form a red crown for the sun

katydids sing, sing


locked in a pale sky

grey clouds with silver linings

drift over Harlem


talking to itself

the sun wanders down our street

finds a tree and stays


alone with his dreams

a woodchuck gazes skyward

then digs his way home


that nervous black ant

has traveled such distances

to get to my foot


slowly the white sun

wipes away the forest fog

colors the sky blue


across the river

High Tor sits in fog and tears

rests his prison heart


the sun pastes itself

to the gingko, to the wall

clings to its shadow


dancing on the wind

a leaf disguised as a bird

settles, unmoving


leaves in the front row

applauding the river wind

as the stage lights fade


those rascal twigs

sucking the light from the sky

as the wind rises


each step a miracle

in their walking meditations

a line of toddlers


the wolf at the door

loosing a wistful serenade

tips his grey felt hat


the morning gingko

lifting its purple skirts

takes a look at the sky


grey in the shadows

the sun makes a new bluejay

struts his stuff


the Alps are hiding

behind a deep iron fog

then pink, then yellow


a lavender cloud

is launching yellow birds

as the lake darkens


one black snail

plodding through the pink sand

a wave, and then another


staring through the woods

multicolored leaves all gone

a hungry barn owl


there a sky of lead

here a carmine flash, black, white

downy woodpecker


the dry yellow leaves

witness their common falling

and break out laughing


a perverse northern wind

strips the dainty ginkgo leaves

carries them away


the ragged locusts

their gentle leaves departed

await the first snow


the robins are busy

stripping the crabapple trees

not so our pigeons


a cloud dims the light

wanders on, chased by the sun

sweeping the sky clean


on the long foodline

the women chatter together

the men stare at the sky


a leaf turns its head

wanders away from its twig

and then falls


man limps up the street

with a bouquet of red roses


sun coaxes new buds

hidden all winter, unborn

now ecstatic green


in his frosty camp

the bearded hermit listens

hears the deer joking


each Spring leaf a thought

each blossom a free moment

as the show begins


the night wind pushes 

an empty grey shopping cart

its rasping black wheels


green trees are cheering

the tender autumn birds

golden their farewells


rain feeds the dark lake

a waterfall grows downstream

one loon is crying


swimmers poke the lake

the only gull slices by

is that a turtle?


The big black bass I didn’t catch

Laughed at me all night long


The waves are so tiny

Even the lily pads ignore them


Six blue jays argue

While the blue heron stretches

Making up his mind


Green fly hides on lily pad

As blue dragonfly sweeps by


Clouds peer down at us

Morning pines, a flag blowing

One flag, any flag


beak full of catkins

sparrow hunts for just one more

grabs it and flies off


kissed by the river

standing in a withered rank

just plain black pilings


under a gray sun

old men on green benches

some read others chant


the monk by the pond

smears his ink, wipes his paper

trying to draw rain.


the light on the tracks

pushed on by a moving train

soon forgets itself


Night wind in blue light.

A mirror of violins.

Crimson star, white swan.


Ego on, then off.

Here I am, see, now I’m not.

Lightning bug. Firefly.


Monkey finger clouds

suggest a change in weather.

Someone tell the ice!


behind dark windows

up there in their private club.

two lovebirds converse.


he crouches and leaps

blurs as he flies, then lands.

that reckless squirrel.


One sparrow, then ten.

Buildings hum, windows open.

Wise guy thinks it’s spring.


The fog drops gauze balls

on a jet black umbrella

then it wanders on.


if that little flea

thinks he can colonize me

he’s mistaken


an egret flies by

sets down by a small canal

flaps, and goes to work


If you want breakfast

my old squirrel friend, then you

need to seem humble

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