he shapes juniperus
brevifolia with his fingertips;
eyes closed…he tunes its canopy
pinch…pinch…thin skin needle sharp
to Zen blaze intimation
he shaves limewood…tilia
soft curls peel beneath
his pocket knife
thin…thin to matchsticks
scatter scryed by fingerfuls
on a crimson scarf
stolen…one day…in a war
he writes…fountain pen
black ink on papyrus…
grounded mourning dove;
footprints chaos the white sand
I raked…mounded smooth
Drawing by Andrew Wyeth
8 thoughts on “his haiku”
Another one that opens up for me in beautiful visuals…
Thanks, Jana, for I value your comments very much. It was a bear to write…my first haiku…published, anyhow.
Aha! I noticed this one had a different rhythm but the form, Bonnie, is a beautiful compliment to your poetic voice.
We experiment, test boundaries, and occasionally find something new to keep. Most often it ends up deleted though…this one survived. Thanks, Jana.
Rich with impression, imbued with life, and altogether beautiful. Thanks for the lovely poem, Bonnie.
It’s worth all the rewrites if it resonates with a reader. Glad you think so, Sharon. Smile.
You do such a fine job in this poem of giving the reader some information without it being transparent more like translucent, I’d say). And then “chaos” suddenly becomes a verb and explodes.
I had fun writing the haiku, Michael. First I’ve published … seemed to fit. Thank you.