Late Fall Poems
17 haiku from the last few weeks of autumn
Morning Frost
Stubborn old windows elaborately crusted— fresh brushstrokes of ice.
Tidying
Scrubbing the grubby desk, dusting keyboard, screen—good work begets good work.
Snowy Afternoon
Afternoon flurries— cardboard bits, leftover yarn becoming snowflakes. - A lovely snowflake sewn by mother and daughter in spring’s pastel hues.
Decoration
We adorn a tree with ornaments—outside, ice glitters on branches.
Absence Lessened
Family pot pie— brother’s crust, lard from dad, both are not here, and yet...
Age of Reason
Vacuuming beetles trapped by the window's opaque impasse—clarity.
Cooped Up
Snow half melts, refreezes, falls again—wife, husband, dog, chickens, all cooped up.
Lost Time
Our order an hour late, we waste it with little jokes, a wander, song.
This year I read Proust’s In Search of Lost Time, which I found to be every bit as profound as it is reputed to be. The poem below was inspired by the final book in the series. (And I should note that the poem above was not inspired by Proust—my husband and I just so happened to need to kill some time at Meijer the day before I finished the series.)
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Time Regained
He would not build it as a cathedral—my mind erects one, despite.
Under-slept
Sunrise, the sleepy reader resists line after line of verse.
The poem below consists of two linked haiku exploring the difference between two different modes of reading and writing: digital and illuminated manuscripts (still on my mind thanks to Proust).
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Two Worlds
Screen-bound infinite ephemeral characters appear, disappear. At the first letter a profound pause—there lingers creator, reader.
Neighborhood Gifts
Boxes of cookies— crossing icy driveways that connect and divide.
Shifting Weather
Last snow, tucked against the north edge of the forest— fog drifts into dusk. - Blurred by fogging snow the misty silhouettes of three fairytale deer.
2 Kings 4
Unseen in every home, a jar which pouring out will never empty.