Bus Stop Haiku Read online

vanish into wind

  guitar stops sun

  a shadow on the grass

  a crow walks borderline

  twisted oak

  waves bare limbs

  directing the north wind

  out my window

  a cloud of bird-travelers

  fly left, not right

  fire eats at night sky

  cold wind a harsh witness --

  her house burns

  for bf

  on the bus he works

  a crossword puzzle

  as sky slides past

  first day with no teeth --

  this autumn morning

  tastes so vacant!

  bus riders watch

  blackbirds in the field

  as they fly away

  silent boy stares down ---

  the grackle's body

  looking into Death

  wind snaps the umbrella

  inside out

  ice stings my face

  sound of man upstairs

  pacing the main deck

  of his creaking ship

  the pawn shop clerk

  waiting for the next dream,

  taps the counter

  end of winter

  air humid not yet warm

  so his dog shivers

  from two directions

  rain rivulets on pavement

  flow to the drain grate

  across the creek

  filtered by the bare trees

  a distant bird cry

  foxtail fern dormant

  in a promise to return:

  I think of old friends

  on the moonlit stairs

  he stops, remembering,

  curses his way down

  playful cold night

  as the sharp bright moon

  juggles crisp stars

  slow autumn shower

  the searchlight from a building

  turns rain to diamonds

  open window

  pulls incense

  into the world

  we walk in a line

  old guy Abbey Road cover

  two carts, wheel chair, cane

  rain on the tin roof

  makes a sleeping cat

  twitch one ear once

  63 years gone --

  with all this madness and theft

  I walk the moon home

  a crack of thunder

  we look at each other --

  the raindrops speak first

  this busy street --

  the old woman's red shoes

  take her across

  flute calls the moon

  notes slide down the brick walls

  slick with spring rain

  face of the stream

  borrows a few bright stars

  from the night sky

  dusk arrives

  the willow's awning can't hide

  a parked ambulance

  stubble on my cheek

  even my softest pillows

  seem uncomfortable

  the old man in line

  makes fart sounds with his mouth --

  we look elsewhere

  such a long night:

  as the ceiling fan turns

  clock-time blinks red

  sudden fog

  look for a landmark

  but all hidden

  at temple door

  incense in the brass bowl

  turns prayers to smoke

  notebook and pen

  tells just where I've gone to --

  poem-catching

  afternoon nap

  sun shines the entire time

  without complaint

  in this mist and fog

  world now appears as it is:

  the dream of a dream

  that tall glass building

  alone against the blue sky?

  stately by default

  beyond the far trees

  a single hammer echoes

  as others join in

  Calendar lying:

  how has another month slipped

  past my open door?

  cold winter rain

  man on the balcony drunk

  on someone long gone

  a lightning flash

  holds the Mexican desert

  in a mountain gap

  night after night

  her old room

  stays silent

  tap on the window --

  the finger of falling ice

  looking for cloud-home

  in the back booth

  of the restaurant

  she frowns at the check

  he plays and sings --

  his shadow on the stage

  taps in time, taps

  she always told me

  that squirrels falling from trees

  is a bad omen

  the cloudless night

  grins with a crescent moon

  at those below

  that one photo

  stashed in a timeworn album

  in distant storage

  early Spring wind

  blows last of the dead leaves

  from their branches

  winter night

  old books on my shelf

  make conversation

  red dirt road

  place it goes to

  no longer there

  my old room

  in what remains of the place:

  spirits, take your seats

  cat on the bed

  her tongue cleans black fur –

  expecting guests?

  with the leaf blower

  he works along the sidewalk

  coolness at his back

  chopped wood on the ground

  workers finish for the day --

  tall pines breathe relief

  the squirrel ignores

  the cat in the window

  who yowls in heat

  father on death bed --

  in kitchen, daughter and I

  make a mess, laugh, cry

  with city sunrise

  the hidden birds calling out

  their different versions

  in the tall building

  one window catches the moon

  others get darkness

  whoosh of a fan

  footsteps in the hallway

  with March night rain

  the homeless man

  twists palm fronds into charms

  for some spare change

  last saw a frog

  when I was a backyard kid –

  who broke what something?

  on a mission

  her nail picks a blackhead

  I’m too old to have

  man with a new coat

  in street photo on display --

  passersby ignore

  dumping cat crap

  in the dumpster –

  sound of redundancy

  kitchen drawer

  holds the ring

  given back so easily

  coat on the hanger --

  unsure I’ll wear it again

  the last winter gone?

  the crucifixes

  he peddles at the tables

  double as whistles

  from my shelf

  hidden in an old book

  five twenties!

  sparse yellow flowers

  in front of the liquor store

  frankly, do their best

  with full moon watching

  I smoke cigarettes until

  no spark from lighter

  spring falling away

  a roach runs across my hand --

  the bad blood numbers

  city pigeons shunned

  at dove family reunions

  as embarrassment

  written after having discovered pigeons are in the dove family

  torn paper with diagnosis snatched by the spring wind

  occasionally,

  these aimless railroad tracks
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  in some empty field

  for pg

  lavender blossom

  flutters in the sudden wind

  a bird taking flight

  for lb

  walked there

  but walking back --

  something I'd dropped

  in the hospital

  patient with carved wooden cane

  makes his way past nurse

  spring worker

  paints inside of drained pool

  aqua blue

  from brown paper bag

  the beer spread on the sidewalk

  makes his mark on life

  Buddhist monk serves

  taste of monastery –

  Big Red soda

  sitting on the floor

  reading the Book of the Dead...

  my mother's bedside

  those same notes again --

  does that bird ever grow tired

  of only one song?

  triple horror show

  lets out in the midnight fog –

  I watch for Dad's car

  here on the back road

  cowboy trucks and red campers

  pushed by a tail wind

  this noon parking lot:

  orange cones white stripes on concrete

  everything but cars

  gray pigeon drops in

  as if he has to make

  urgent announcement

  new apartment

  but the one I moved from

  just now seems better

  homeless man

  with a handwritten sign:

  Damaged Goods

  wet leaf drapes

  Buddha statue's shoulder

  slow spring rain

  another summer

  without my father's gold ring

  the one I lost

  walking my way home

  along yellow caution tape

  left here by police

  this autumn night

  full moon winks off and on

  the wind in the trees

  early morning walk –

  someone mowing a lawn makes

  the smell of summer

  from upper window

  B. B. King with Thrill is Gone

  flavors a still night

  old neighborhood gone

  cheap sign nailed to the last tree:

  ad for EZ Loans

  these apartments

  require bulletproof vest

  and party hat

  her young heart?

  valentine folded flat

  the glitter gone

  bits of the old wharf

  where the moon and I once fished --

  now wet with starlight

  the woman bends down

  quick scoop in the winter grass

  her poodle's droppings

  faceless and armless

  mannequins sell bikinis

  along store sidewalk

  scrubbing the floor clean

  opening windows and doors

  makes the case for Spring

  nursing home visit:

  sip warm tea and wonder

  is piano in tune?

  having turned away

  Buddha's stone face

  only then I spray for bugs

  what is life like?

  jumping off a tower:

  “So far, so good!”

  on this spring morning

  even the ghosts are silent

  but they bow, fondly

  black grackle

  the yellow straw in beak

  flies off toward home

  store thinks I need it?

  the book Life After Death,

  arrives overnight

  twice a day clock time I think of my dorm room number

  gate in the wind

  swings open and closed:

  leaves come, leaves go

  About the Author

  Known as Dr. Mojo for his blues music, Robertson's most recent albums include Big Ass Buick and Storm Warning. He often attends Jade Buddhist Temple as well as his visits to several monasteries -- Buddhist, Christian and Hindu

  Thank you for reading books on Archive.BookFrom.Net
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