alone into the night coyote voices rise in song
a sudden gust of wind calls forth the sleeping spirits
she walks into her fears armed only with her courage
In 2003, I've been reaching back to Basho and Buson and Issa, trying to understand once again what haiku is. I've had some playful periods, and some returns to simple shasei, and tried numerous ideas.
One of my themes for the year is home comforts. With the war on Iraq and the grim economy, I find comfort and counterpoint in humdrum objects and pursuits.
The background image for this page is an arashi shibori fabric hand-dyed by yours truly. “Arashi” means “wind-driven rain” in Japanese.
Heather's Modern Haiku Page
This page traces my personal haiku development,
from my earliest pre-haiku haiku to my latest efforts.
Heather's Original Haiku Page
My earliest, “pre-haiku” haiku
Heather's 1999-2000 Haiku Page
My earliest serious haiku
Heather's 2001 Haiku Page
Continuing evolution of my personal haiku style
Heather's 2002 Haiku Page
Another year's attempts to stalk the wild juxtaposition
stocking feet
the wash of scrabble tiles
by the fire
moonlit tears
washing out the sorrow
of the old year
drug store sale
tie-dyed blow-outs
six for a dollar
lost love
the heart still beats
in my chest
day after new year's
she dusts off
her geometry book
"what do you want
for your birthday?"
"a divorce"
"i know what it's like
to feel depressed"
"yes, you do, don't you?"
face to face
two mortals accept the fact
that they're donkeys
grace
another word
for a sense of humor
flat on my back
things are looking up
again
busy day
there's always room
for another haiku
winter night
the steady ticking
of the cuckoo clock
evening solitude
tea strainers drying
on the drainboard
midnight solo
drawing a moonbow
across my viola
morning prayer
the fire flares
to life
after lovemaking
we pee
in separate stalls
morning light
her clothes in a heap
on the floor
raiding the fridge
gray fuzz
on the leftover potatoes
first light
i reach over to turn off
the night light
withering wind
your eyes in the face
of a stranger
shattered fir branch
my hood muffles
the sound of rain
no wind
raindrops outline
the redwood's needles
every morning
an hour of sleep
lost forever
winter flame war
it's entirely their fault
as usual
hard at work
i gaze out the window and
sip my tea
winter sleep
at last! a break
from the vomiting
late night chill
the sick child too still
on his pallet
winter stillness
the sick child asleep
at last
limp paper snowflakes
a flash of sunshine
on the redwood's new fronds
afternoon lull
i left my brain
on google
haiku by the fire
another beetle
in my knitting bag
strip mall
a sluggish line of ants
collecting crumbs
that democratic party registration?
"youthful indiscretion"
flu epidemic
internal censor on strike
for better working conditions
another fallen oak branch
he says i used to smile more
single crocus
beside her sickbed
a thin smile
winter moonrise
waiting for the right kind of dishes
to fill the dishwasher
director of marketing
curried beef stew
on his tie
jackrabbit in the lupine
a haiku writes me
cracked work gloves
smoke from the brush fire
mingles with the trees
fuzzy slippers
his dreams on the silver screen
a little tarnished
back to work
the curtain opens to reveal
the fog
first light
untangling
my dreams
dinner argument
that cold stew
americans in paris
my mother tells them
she's canadian
crude star map
a few haiku scribbled
around the margins
greening hills
the neighborhood live oaks
a little more gnarled
city sidewalk
a small child walks
in the gutter
bay view
the breaking waves of clouds
overhead
forgiveness
a redwing blackbird's song
fills my heart
midnight hush
the afterimage of the clock's luminous dial
superbowl sunday
a slice of cold pizza
straight out of the box
double vision
seeing middle earth through the eyes
of my daughter
waiting
for the kettle to boil
no flame
wasted food
the runaway shopping cart
overturns
mission town
cracks in the stucco wall
on paseo padre parkway
enron's america
"in greed we trust"
joe's diner
"in grease we trust"
winter picnic
another orange peel
hits the compost
oranges and sunshine
he runs his bare toes
through the grass
too early for dandelions
the cat finds another
place to nap
the earth turns
a snail crosses
the road
warm front
a snail crosses
the road
early robin
a snail crosses
the road
snow melts
a snail crosses
the road
morning pastry
a snail crosses
the road
blue winter sky
the forest hidden
behind the trees
grandmotherly kindness
the sound of ducklings
hitting the pond
columbia falls
the first golden poppies bloom
along the highway
fishing limit
the trout at the bottom of the pool
danse' sacre et profane
another false note on my viola
dead lilies
the children's hair bright in the sunshine
true or false?
smoke blows through the sun-dappled trees
undone
a fatty piece of lamb
in the roasting pan
muddy yard
the girl pirouettes in
forget-me-not blue
lingering heat
a long dust plume behind the pick-up
quaker to-do list:
sit in silence and stillness
winter clarity
sunshine on one side
of the trees
smoke over the lawn
the same measure again and again
on the piano
I found God
among the trees
blowing his snows
yarn-over
a jet of blue flame licks
the oak log
lost teacup
wandering through the house with the teapot
and a handful of sugar
sensual lips
the young man tells me
about his fresh fruit
hard frost
the cast iron gate burns
my hand
autumn reflections
her face in the back
of a soap bubble
break in the storm
six small zucchini
in her grocery cart
roses and glory
live
tonight on FOX
blood and roses
a heart-shaped wreath
for the hero's casket
red hot candy hearts
sleeping
with the enemy
undelivered
osama's valentine
to george
orange alert
children surround the bowl
of tangerines
pacific storm
a sprouting yam
on the windowsill
american pie
pumpkin peels everywhere
but the compost
winter storm
tater tots sizzle
in the toaster oven
winter storm
the three-year-old howls
outside his sister's door
sudden chill
my aunt corrects
the children's manners
winter weekend
the splatting of raindrops
against the skylight
dinnertime conversation
picking the crumbs
from the cornbread pan
spring cleaning
cumulus clouds pile up
against the ridge
spring starlight
she adjusts the frames
on her new glasses
spring gale
raindrops on the raw wood
of the new fence
white narcissus
sunlight through the slats
of the new fence
june dusk
the golden gate bridge vanishes
in the fog
fog off the coast
the painter switches rollers
on the golden gate bridge
direct action
the peace march heads
to the fillmore
summer drought
the pinyon pines
of el paso
autumn clarity
the rough face
of mount saint helens
sudden toothache
an unexpected gap in the lights
of manhattan
president's speech
the radio suddenly
falls silent
saint patrick's day
an order of genocide with a side
of famine
spring cleaning
news of tomahawk strikes
on the radio
march skies
dust motes and spiders
fill the woodshed
march skies
the rumble of trucks
on the distant highway
war news
dead bean vines rustle
in the breeze
distant bombs
a thin wisp of smoke
from the chimney
granite in the sun
a marmot makes off with
my wool sock
false spring
the minty freshness
of his kiss
march rain
the tight twist of wool
in the skein
stacked plates
the gurgle of water
from the dishwasher drain
popping gum
the vacant look
in her eyes
naked sycamores
the horse's ears twitch
in different directions
empty stands
the roar of the crowd
in the batter's mind
riverside tryst
box elder bugs mate
on the outhouse walls
wind and rain
wisteria blooms entwine
the barbed wire fence
heavy thoughts
this thick mud
in the spring rain
state of the union
shadows of chains
beyond the swings
rays of light dance
on the taut spiderweb
with no thought of beauty
I turn my attention
to today's headlines
(a tanka)
blue and gray
their eyes meet before they
pull the trigger
makeshift umbrella
rain drums on the leaves
of the maple
childhood memories
peacock feathers in blue glass
empire waist
bombs and blood spilled
on the desert sand
wind chimes
the eyes of the child i was
still in my face
virus checker
a handkerchief fresh from the laundry
all the same problems
hand-me-down math book
til death do us part
mating soldier beetles cling
to the window screen
morning fog
my limbs sink back
into the mattress
powder room
her breath extends
as she loosens her stays
his dark eyes
all of the questions
i'm afraid to ask
concrete wall
forsythia stiff
against the breeze
blind curve
dogwood flowers unfold
in the rain
storm's end
a shower of fir needles
mirror lake
their fists break my reflections
republican guard
steel-toed boots trample my dreams
swallows return
a small boy roosts
in the oak
white picket fence
the plump smoothness
of the prickly pear
first drops of rain
a backhoe
among the hyacinths
clematis buds
the cracked lights
of the old trailer
salvia 4-pak
the dreamy look
in the checker's eyes
first light
cherry leaves heavy
with rain
well-thumbed book
a memory of cottage cheese
on page 73
hauling advertisement
a dog's tongue hangs out
of the bike trailer
worn wiper blade
a forest skyline
in the rear view mirror
ethnic cleansing
the colored woman scrubs
the white toilet
zayante creek
horsetails choke
the roadside ditch
drifting oak pollen
dark-eyed juncos flit
from branch to branch
iris in bud
a small boy balances
on the fence rail
climbing blackberry
a cat with white paws shits
in the sandbox
weathered park bench
the old lady knits
in the rain
gnats in flight
the bearded iris sways
in the breeze
leaf rake
a pile of camellia petals
on the blacktop
civil war re-enactment
a bare-chested young man sobs
into the grass
storm's end
baby bluejays start
squalling
evening prayer
hailstones rattle
the windows
fading light
wild oats nod
above the lupine
piano recital
a steady drone
from the coke machine
cracked cereal bowl
an old bath towel
under the new dishwasher
whock-whock-whock
barbed wire
against the sky
tumbledown fence
sunlight streams
through the honey locusts
jasmine flowers
the high-pitched whine
of a mosquito
rooftop picnic
each palm leaf sharp
against the blue sky
towhee's call
the scent of water
on potting soil
church picnic
the volleyball bounces
all the way to the freeway
fading lupine
a fog bank rolls
over the ridge
a tall glass of iced tea
forget-me-not seeds stuck
to my pants legs
trust me on this one:
you can vacuum sock stickers off your sandals
but not your pants
stacking bricks
a hummingbird over
the rose campion
loaded wheelbarrow
rust-gold lichen
on the concrete
the clink of bricks
star jasmine scents
the evening air
ragged breath
brushing forget-me-not seeds
off my pants
swelling rose hips
the wheelbarrow tire
loses more air
a sip of tea
empty dye bottles stacked
on the window sill
gray cubicle
sparrow song from the computer speaker
sweet corn by the bushel
the market umbrella
sails away
kestrel in flight
poison hemlock chokes
the fire road
faded roses
dirty white bubbles
below the drain pipe
swaying treetops
flowered sheets billow
on the clothesline
hot deck underfoot
damp cotton gauze clings
to my arm
sun-bleached drying rack
a row of tie-dyed panties
above the socks
still evening
a stack of folded slacks
on the picnic table
mosquitoes rise
the damp scent of clean clothes
on the line
hot afternoon
the pebbled coolness
of dried beans
fourth of july traffic
my emergency chocolate melts
in my purse
hard bench
no haiku admitted
to the courtroom
summer moon --
the sound of sprinklers
on the grass
beach rollercoaster
brake lights
all the way to the summit
barbecued spare ribs
prickly pear blossoms
in the sunshine
scalding blacktop
orange and yellow blooms
on the prickly pear
hot and humid
the tea kettle dribbles
onto the counter
plastic lilies
papa's last mistake
chiseled in stone
ceaseless heat
the squirrel's hands keep turning
the corncob
drooping lily
the maples the same shade of green
as the redwoods
a mother's tears
the desert alive
with ocatillo
earthquake
the pelvic bones open
to admit the head
summer siesta
i put my laptop to sleep
so it won't burn my knees
lavender shampoo
a faint whiff of sewage gas
from the drain
slow river
the trees' reflections sway
over the sand
hiroshima day
the first meteors fall
silently
moonglow
the buck gets all four feet
in the compost bin
silent worship
the old man's face glows
with love
violets
the swirling cloth
in the dye vat
midnight
the soft hooting
of an owl
cold tea
the four-year-old finishes
his tantrum
august wind
the pianist plays one tune
the stereo another
ticking clock
she brushes pastry crumbs
off her nightie
shady arbor
how beautiful these bunches
of bitter grapes
grocery parking lot
the drivers' eyes meet
over chocolate
muggy wind
back-to-school ads
in the gutter
Take the common word "saute," which is something you do
to meat and vegetables in a skillet. If you speak French (as some of
us do), you heat up the oil, chop up the onions, put the onions in
the pan, and say "Hop to it, onions, I'm starving."
Then you add the celery.
Through some sleight of fate, I visited the chiropractor this afternoon. My 4-year-old likes to jump on my back. Yesterday, he managed to do this in a way that threw my tailbone out of whack. This morning, I found myself caught in a melodrama of pain, screaming when I tried to walk, sobbing when I sank back into my chair.
Pain has a way of gripping your attention. Don't move, it says, I'm going to subject you to a concerto in anguish major.
The chiropractor reached in, found the volume knob on my coccyx, and turned it down to a dull roar. Now the pain is mere background music, allowing me to think and move.
lace hair ribbon
she snags a sandal strap
on her cane
september 11th
serving up leftover
devil's food cake
september sunshine
the coarseness of his hair
against my lips
unknown soldier
a fallen comrade carried
by two ants
spent dandelions
a weather-beaten lawn chair
on the bare patch
friendly fire
he sprinkles red sugar
on the cupcakes
tall grass
an old DeSoto
beyond the old Dodge
alder thicket
the milky white roar
of the rapids
dark cedars
a hawk tilts
through the mist
midnight walk
fog drips
from the cedars
white bean soup
the soft chatter of birds
settling for the night
gold-tinged leaves
the drone of the saw
goes on and on
haiku chatter
the pine recedes
in the mist
somber skies
drifts of dead fir needles
on the road
simmering stew
trees darken
against the sky
burning leaves
the ragged ends of her hair
brush her shoulders
hazy night
the rasp of the leaf rake
on asphalt
steaming breath
heaps of gold maple leaves
along the road
day is done
the crumpled pages
of his call-up letter
roadside shadows
the sharp ears of the deer at rest
old fiddle
the first hint of color
in the steeping tea
forest trail
cigarette smoke
in the parking lot
blowing leaves
his eyes flick back
to his newspaper
bare trees
her distracted voice
long distance
new grass
the jack-o-lantern grins
from the compost
bare maple twigs
a stellers jay glides
from tree to tree
new grass
a rat scurries
under the woodpile
a novel of ideas
the dog-eared pages reveal
cookie crumbs
silent worship
the sound of her body
hitting the concrete
winter party
a few crumbs left
in the brownie pan
Copyright © 2000-2005 by Heather Madrone . All rights reserved.