haiku, haikoan/queries, and tiny poems by Grant Hackett
poems just published in tiny wren lit (issue 6) and chrysanthemum (issue 32)!
wind blows my fingers off
small fossils
free of mind
emerging
from a random sky
a withered tree
a child and his face
have all the light
the sea lies flat
five monostich:
the long limbs of human light ascending
a face without eyes the moon spills its sand
an audience reading around the desk of solitude
empty chairs in a cornfield a birthing begins
coming home to the guardian stone
an old rain is staring out the window
high in the winter trees
my garden has built a nest
spring rain :: fat stones
within an earlier melody
unknown outside the dream
are the lands i am and will learn to perceive
whose expanse of lake is sane enough
to receive the grace
of winter geese
being asleep while two calling owls speak the language of night
rain's rhythm
morning chorus
waking begins
afraid of the
eclipse
i was right to be
droning engines die
wind sound
vast
death of the sun
tomorrow, eclipse
shadow of man, of moon
blue-green lichen
on rain-darkened trees
journal of dreams
in the last car of the train
nodding asleep, holding the way home
open
a rainbow
to end the day—
three journeys in last night's sleep
three monostich:
dreaming snow last night in different lives
the same bed years apart restored from ashes
small beginning dropped in the night in the soil
doves are nesting in a yard i've stopped speaking to
opened the window
dropped an ant
into spring
no mountains here
—what is higher
than thunder
geese flying
a pair—
no gazing at the sky
in a sweet scented breeze
i don't know
whose petals
using a mourning dove's coo
to quiet
my ears
lost the moon
behind a pine
so the day begins
long wings
climbing a thermal
virgin sky
rainy skies
flowers sleep
hazy moon
flowers dream
kneeling
hands in mud
restoring water to flow
eaves drip
dripping
the swollen heavens dry
mixing vinegar and water
before easter
snow squalls
with stems that stood
through winter—
here i'll plant my life
the wind
the house
i listen to them moan
the sun is warm
the windflowers will
lift their heads
under heaven's freedom
to be stormy or clear
wearing my black beret
equinox
the widower has grown
a new beard
dead branches
my living hands
breaking
picking up the dollar
someone dropped
a buddhist nun walks by
morning with
a killing frost
she prefers my naked face
pine forests i cannot see from
ohio
the sky reaches there
limbs that walk
limbs that grow
three old oaks and i
sky and winds loud and restless all day about money
releasing water from a stagnant pool i look within
a moonless night
my neighbor's light
all this hurry to die
a pregnant moon
we
climb into bed together
killed
on the road
i have no heart for travel
morning sky
evening of my life—
receive the waxing moon
a quick thunderstorm has left me rushing
shuffles away in his body
bends
a tree
white orchids
yellowing—
i have an appointment to be cured
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
for pine cones swept to an asphalt fate i grieve
blue umbrella
broken rib
cloudless skies
even the old orchard
turns death
into grass
sawing 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