haiku, haikoan/queries, and tiny poems by Grant Hackett
a pregnant moon
we
climb into bed together
killed
on the road
i have no heart for travel
morning sky
evening of my life
we receive the waxing moon
a quick thunderstorm has left me rushing
shuffles away in his body
the wind
bends
a tree
white orchid buds
yellowing—
i have an appointment to be cured
onion grass
garden snakes
stems that stood through winter
releasing water from a stagnant pool was so good
away, alone
a gravel road
blackbirds chattering
an early windflower
white
where snow never fell
sharing last night's
dreams
dawn bleeds
to avoid my hands
an injured finch
flutters from death on the road
with pine cones swept to an asphalt fate i grieve
blue umbrella
broken rib
cloudless skies
follows the trace
of winter twigs
the breath i breathe
even the old orchard
turns death
into grass
sawing the downed limbs into rolls of thunder
tracing wounds
across the spiraling sky
fallen tree and i
plundering an abandoned nest
one crow
death
within
the paper lantern
storm-darkened ohio night
the artist
sheds
his clay
coming up from the basement to a house still standing
flow of clouds beyond the bough of a newly dead tree
in the warmth of the sun i offer the sun my warmth
the way forward
lonely day
drone of a small plane
the sidewalk is empty and i am alive
as she teaches the children to sew we turn our backs to the wind
has a bottle of wine
that is never to be opened
green leaves brewing for tea
gathering up the newspapers delivered to her empty house, yellow
so close
to the crocus
i have seen my veins
distant sound of a steel stake
in failing light
driven into our earth—
the voice inside stops to hear ohio in the wind
having shaved my beard
later
i bring a rose
inside
the inside silence—
a sudden cardinal sings
pine leaves needled with frost
inner
warmth
kneels first
then enters
the rose
A new poem (haikoan) just published in SurVision, Issue #14!
sunlight
is the milk
to my green
tea
here's a big white dog
rolling in the grass—
groundhog day
dreamless
after a night of rain
morning egg
Three Haikoan (#s 13, 14, 15) published in Heliosparrow!
a dream of two birds
tied together
flying toward some naked trees
for years i expect
his dying breath
to wash ashore beside me
full of the wars
i am wearing
a shirt soaked with life
spirals of seeds
top tall dried weeds—
my path through the field completes a circle
moon so fragile
blue sky
shone through
warm bed
old soul
blanket of snow
from cloud to limb to ground
junco and snow
so i go
to be a little light
i see
mercury on the horizon
seeing the limbs that fell last night—
angry winds
wild chimes
walking with the green sea
walking with a gift
tumbled from it
wind moans
feet cold
clouds running ahead of the sun
my hair is thin
snow and wind
the oriole nest abandoned
lifted a potato from the earth
tuberculosis
asleep in my chest
lighting a candle
closing my eyes
sunrise
can the sun be weighed in dying whispers
where is the road that walks on it knees
how many waters are never dreamed
can silence be gleaned from winter geese
can shadow give the cry of birth
shall faultless blue endure as the robe of our earth
why did night air
on a branch of december
turn its face to me
how old was light
that could not support
the weight of falling leaves
how many flaws
of wild honey in me
how many rose
eternities
on the eve of blue
why do my violets
grieve
whose blood received the first immortal
whose blood is a carnival of knives
is it shadow that shapes then seals our eyes
where blue mountain ends :: the kiss of a silver wind blows in
was i a petal waiting
for the sun's eye to open
or the sky who chased
a small bird into breath
when did i learn that blue
is the planet of our death
how long has my river endured the torment of water
was baptism the stone i bathed
who bled from the wound where i have no vein
one inch of wind :: a pearl begins
heron departs
to the cave
of the moon
death's day
the undoing of blue
are small windows the soul of silence
which thread of my life connects two dark trees
will the heat from my grave go unperceived
does rain hear the silenced heart
do ashes rise into a blood-warm sky
have all suns held inside a dawn that never arrives
child of ash :: may i wear at my throat
your frozen whispers
child of stone :: have you met in your dreams
the mirror that wants to live
when all that is dust returns to song, where
will the child of the wound be found
whose river ascends to the womb of the skies
how deep is the well of a mountain's cry
for whom does earth wear her necklace of knives
who taught our darkest river to drink from the sea
who put silence inside shadow inside seed
how many who are dreamed want only to sleep
on the days i can touch what is lost, what is said?
death of depth
we dare call heaven
milk makes a prison
of skin
tears of grace
original face
waking up a thousand birds :: i have to be a perfect dawn
(first appeared in Roadrunner Haiku Journal in 2009)
two poems (first and last in the issue) just published in Issue 153 of Right Hand Pointing!
whose flesh lies beyond the edge of the rose
how many dreams encircle a seed
whose love is snow on a black woolen sleeve
who cried eight tears into the heart of each star
who runs the circus of death
whose martyred howl shall be restored as flesh
petals of rain
honeyed sky
young mountain silently rising inside
island: the moon
that swallowed the moon
a mouth that gathered clouds
a short poem published in Issue 5 of tiny wren!!
whose vision dies at the entrance to dawn
on which side of my skin is sky
if dream is the cradle, who is the child
whose skin has not awakened to green
whose heart is blind with eyes
where are there hands to bandage the sky
when were stars erased by rain
when did sleep still live in a tree
who was the first to murder a dream
who hasn't an eye that refuses light
and helpless blood in their breast
when shall our honey smell faintly of death
is it true that earth has never uttered a word
that silence and stone make soul
in the clear mind of rain
aren't we random
why is silence round
why did darkness grow a tree
why does staying alive take wings
were you always as far as the moon can sail
were you the bell that broke into light
in the ancient darkness that is to come
whose arms hold the mother of dawn
when we forget we are water :: who drowns
what is the fate of a child in whom the sea has been crossed
why has the moon kept no one from harm
when will the voice of the rain stop saying
going back cannot be done
new poem published in SurVision #12.
who can walk the path inside sparrow
who can dream where the moon is unknown
how can depth be the origin of snow
how far from her moon can the sleeper wander
how far from water can one drown
when dust returns to song, where
will i be found
whose sorrow heals as a wing
whose wound mourns the gun
when did my shadow first walk underground
who remains when all that is silent is said
who arrives when death is a seed
how deep within the breathing pine
is sky and open sea
"Four Queries" published in Right Hand Pointing.
who can find their way with a broken flame
who will breathe when there is only moon
shall too many words leave an empty tomb
was abyss once flesh
isn't deep where old snows fall
in how many rains
will i never reach the sea
Several new haikoan have been published by Heliosparrow (Haikoan 10, 11, 12)!
living as one shadow and many deaths :: is this my strange unrest
how many dreams of rain end a life
how many walls are liquid at dawn
who wrote the moon until
it bled round
when do the dead break into light
when did our poems cease writing the sea
how many abandoned awakenings
sleep inside a seed
where in my flesh does absence nest
where did the earth first breathe
why does my shadow walk on his knees