In 2002, I started exploring more human and more personal aspects of haiku. I'm reaching back to some of the more classical Japanese haijin (such as Issa) for inspiration.
I've also begun to explore religion and death more in my work. My grandfather's death in December 2001 and my involvement with the local Friends Meeting give me new grist for the haiku mill.
january sunshine
a cloud of steam rises
from the tree trunk
too hot to handle
he juggles a fresh slice
of pepperoni pizza
church bells
she leaves her good intentions
in her hymnal
meeting-house door
the silence ends
in birdsong
grandpa in his coffin
she sings a lullaby
before they close the lid
sun on bare branches
when you take away the words,
where is the haiku?
feathery clouds
your death magnifies
my life
economic downturn
my bus fare skids
into the sewer grate
fireside chat
cold feet
in spite of my slippers
tear tracks
sunshine dissolves
the frost
memories
the mist lends substance
to the sunlight
baby lust
she sweeps the smashed crackers
off the floor
sinus headache
the rain falls
too loudly
north wind
young eyes fill the clouds
with snow
snow on bricks
drifts of wood smoke fall
with the rain
zen calligraphy
the tracks of the shorebirds
brushed by waves
oh gull, look!
too late! the children
are gone
ice
reflecting the moon . . .
sunrise
moonless night
stars drain from the nets
of herring
revival meeting
six more souls
on the preacher's scalp belt
january clouds
birds chatter softly
in the sycamores
late friends
the stream of cars
blurs together
hard frost
the first sign of buds
on the maple
record highs
god doesn't dance the same dance
every day
february 15th
a broken heart
in the cookie box
night moves
the music too loud
to hear your heart
mostly overcast
varied thrushes pick
through the compost
february clouds
a raindrop at the heart
of the first violet
shadowy trees
the horned moon trails
the setting sun
twilight
the muffled tap of raindrops
on redwood duff
grand canyon vista
a coyote panhandles
in the parking lot
desert solitaire
no cars for fifty miles
along the interstate
white faces
the border patrol
waves us through
falling petals
all the men who have fluttered
my heart
gated community
the whock-whock-whock
of border patrol helicopters
late night secrets
the scent of garlic toast
in her hair
soft spring rain
tight cherry buds bob
on slender twigs
cherry trees in bloom
two large diamond rings
on her gnarled hand
forget-me-nots
a soap bubble caught
in his hair
lazy afternoon
a cloud of soap bubbles
over the bluebells
prayers
for a dying friend
azaleas in bloom
spring cold
trying to get the frog
out of my throat
lofty thoughts
the crowns of the redwoods
lost in the clouds
spring mist
she swirls her tea mug
to stir the sugar
spring playground
the scampering and chattering
of squirrels
idling engine
she licks the drips
from his ice-cream cone
dry haystack
the muffled sound
of rain
summer night
the child tosses and turns
in the hayloft
long summer night
the sound of our drums
under the stars
looking around
from this side of the world
rain-splattered roses
morning tai chi
my form wavers
with the dogs' barking
silent worship
the sudden clatter
of teaspoons
soda fountain
she holds a striped straw
between her brown teeth
brain rot
she changes channels
with the remote
diabetes test
she cranks up the brightness
of her smile
southern smile
won't you have another coke,
sugar?
spring funeral
the pink fringe of her shawl
describes damnation
drifting clouds
the butter on my yam
hardens
downtown chicago
a streak of fudge sauce
across my chest
leftover meatloaf
we have an argument
about his ex-wife
seventh-inning stretch
the little girl keeps drawing
in the dust
bronco world series
the catcher fires another one
into left field
round pregnant belly
the jeering Mets fan lands
in my lap
shagging flies
swallows hover
over the outfield
sunday afternoon
the rhythmic ker-chunk
of the pitching machine
chalking the field
starting line-ups flutter
in the breeze
pitching duel
lawnmower stripes
on the outfield
hometown dugout
the clear print of his cleat
in the dust
extra innings
the snack bar
runs out of ice
post-game show
the bees' buzzing fades
into night
august night
another bat
in the house
lost in space
my foot reaches for the step
that isn't there
steamer's lane
a wavy line of foam
on the beach
august heat
a grasshopper
on the bottom of the pool
eating all those mosquitoes
the colony of mother bats
in our chimney
besides the point
the tears on my youngest child's face
as he gets his rabies shot
fourth rabies shot
the hospital receptionist
greets us by name
summer of the bats
i open the window
to let out the fear
cold august evening
maple leaves falling
on the first amaryllis
august work day
raking in the leaves
to the smell of toner
darkening bruise
a continent in relief
on his hip
autumn sunrise
her shrunken lips mutter
"Damn! I'm still alive."
the sun rose
oh! the fragrance
of this autumn morning
final brush stroke
it's the lopsided grin
that makes it perfect
last light
a pinwheel spins
on the child's grave
late breakfast
the fly stops struggling
in the spider's web
early riser
the spider curses
the dew
sudden gust
the scraping of the rake
a little faster
afternoon tea
the small boy spoons sugar
into his mouth
badlands
a 22 casing
by the dead skunk
october heat
cobwebs thick
with dust
green tea
peasant virtue
in a cup
splitting a banana
a spoonful of hot fudge
straight from the jar
desert canyon
acres of windmills
white against the sky
manicured nails
picking at the scab
from a hangnail
turning leaves
blue veins marble
the clouds
desire
the honey
inside me
october clouds
the gleam of suntan oil
on the old woman's legs
children shriek
the old locomotive
builds a head of steam
clear blue sky
a touch of green
in the red berry leaves
long wisps of cloud
my hair
half-dry
tangled bushes
red berry leaves
amongst the toyon
train bell
she clips the leash
to her dog's collar
happy birthday
why do we celebrate
the forward march of time?
droning airplane
the small boy counts the cars
in the parking lot
swarming flies
primary colors
on the clothesline
clay oven
the smell
of burning bread
october beetles
a few stalks of grain
stand still
fading light
a redtail hawk flies low
over the cotton field
crawdad pond
a thick cloud of dust
behind the pickup
church potluck
the toddler asks
for a fly swatter
leafless tree
lichen
on the weathered white post
nature's palette
a selection of greens and yellows
on that tree
farm country
the flies don't bother me
until I get them home
annual party
the children all
a size bigger
halloween sunshine
the frantic whir
of the sewing machine
raining cats and dogs
watch out;
you might step in a poodle
coming down pitchforks
jagged lightning
in the west
raining buckets
trying to turn the wipers
up past high
downpour
catching my breath
under the overhang
halloween night
the small witch's eyes
wide
trick-or-treat
cotton candy clouds
at dusk
november geese
a fine rain covers
the fallen leaves
remodeling
shopping for a husband
to match her decor
veterans day
the children dye yarn
with koolaid
a rainbow of wool drying
on the clothesline
feet to the fire
the old woman knits
new socks
turning the heel
those chilblained toes no longer need
any socks
winding yarn
do the poppies still bloom red
in flanders?
funeral train
a parade
without music
autumn night
i don't care why
he wants to do me
thanksgiving morning
do you really want to fight
over this turkey?
thanksgiving stuffing
reaching for another piece
of pie
frosty morning
the teenager wears thermal boots
with her shorts
november wind
the news of each friend's death
less unexpected
winter storm
paper snowflakes flower
on the window
spaceship earth
the bus driver hollers
"move on back!"
Copyright © 2000-2002 by Heather Madrone . All rights reserved.