Early Winter Poems
20 haiku from early winter
Snowfall
Clumps of clinging flakes crystal frozen ajumble— rain, just barely snow.
Winter Morning
Freshly fallen snow— the great illuminator of comings, goings.
At the Sink
Hands in warm water I watch songbirds in constant motion against cold.
Winter Coat
Every bird wearing a tiny cloud of warm air contained by feathers.
Lately I've been writing more linked haiku, in which a second haiku responds to or continues an idea introduced in the first. Below are a handful of examples.
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The Impatient Iris
Poking just above snow’s white blanket, an iris shoot, eager for spring. - Shoot frozen above the snow’s protection—patience learned the hardest way.
Gusts
The wind streaming its water metaphor around and through the drenched house. - Again, the wind makes its loud reminder of our total immersion.
Below are two haiku capturing the same moment/idea, the first in 5-7-5, the second in a more concise 3-5-3. I couldn’t choose a favorite, so I’ve included both.
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Snowmelt
Melting snow soaks the soil—every step, the mud-caked boots acquire more mud. - Mud-caked boots twice as heavy on our return.
We're lucky enough to be able to source our beef from one of our neighboring farms. We recently restocked the freezer with a fresh side of beef, and this inspired the following series of poems. Each is a standalone haiku, however together they also form a complete poem.
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Restocking
In warm deep litter cattle standing, resting—one white face observes us. Fields for corn and hay snow tucked for winter—cattle enjoy their labors. Loading up pallets of beef—the quiet farmer, all smalltalk, contentment. Winter assists with defrosting the freezer—meat frozen on the porch. Dark in the basement, a treasured chest of frozen jewels, marbled, red.
House Spider
One of how many? There, on the doorframe’s top, a small, dark presence.
The poem below could be relevant to many classic books, but it was specifically inspired by Richard Armitage’s excellent reading of David Copperfield.
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Audiobook
Listening, the stream washes over me—these words, two hundred years old.
Simple Gifts
Remembering I, glorious and single, was given words and weeds.
Recovery
After three injured years, squatting, lunging, cleaning the shower with joy.
Vespers
Dark hours—the prayer plant steeples many green hands in nightly vigil.