Under Pressure

The alarm rang for the last time;
He sprang
To stop its chime
And stumbled in the dark as he got dressed.
The lark
Sings morningsong; he’s not impressed:
He feels pressed like wine.

He feels pressed for time

Battle #27

Every day she walked past the shop window
Pretending not to look inside;
She’d stop and check reflection, seeing within
The clothes the mirror hide.
While moving away she checked her pace,
Keeping it casual and slow
While thoughts raced with dreams of gowns and lace–
Her face carried the glow.

American Beauty


Taftodil (Hyacinth)

Here lies a man whom four young men
Might easily have fit within,
Yet even four ambitious gents
Could not be chief justice and president.

On days when

Colors to grey keep draining

On days when colors to grey keep draining
And thoughts like drops down spouts keep raining
In staining puddles muddy on the floor,
Where footprints show the traveled path from door–
On days when eyes are hard to open
And feelings tell you don’t let hope in
And you can’t keep your smile from fading:
Imagine an ostrich rollerskating.

Back to the Book

Sleeping, but in pain:
Can’t sit up or move around–
Rescue from a friend.

Much Better

For: haiku-heights.blogspot.com

Corner Market

The two drift together as if by accident
blown by the wind
rambling men.


She kept a calendar filled with all her dates
With tips on how to make the next one better,
Like: picnics aren’t the place to wear high heels
And how some things are best expressed through letter.

One day she tore it, burned it in a blaze
And warmed herself with all the previous days.

Slow Burn

And it’s clammy

Brace yourself before you dredge the river:
There’s darkness black can make an adult shiver.

Bridge over troubled waters

All Things Equal

Look at all the angles

Call it what you will, it’s still the same.
The cinderblocks all stack upon each other,
The bells ring softly, fool begins to smother.
Don’t ever lie to watchful mathematician;
He’ll find the truth like x in an equation
And let you know your words just don’t add up.

Slow and Unsteady

In a furrow cut by pain
There the wagon’s stuck again:
The wheels refuse to turn.

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