There was a man
who sat at the corner
bus stop.
Beside him was
a paper bag with cups
in it.
Why does he sit
at the corner bus stop
staring?
He is alone,
without a home to go
home to.
What does he see
sitting at the bus stop
alone?
He sees nothing.
There is nothing at all
to see.
Sometimes I feel
like the man at the cor-
ner stop.
Here a bit of scifiku for you: Purple lake runs cool through my mind like a dagger where is my home now? Later this week I’ll be posting this month’s work of art to inspire haiku, so keep coming back! Originally posted on 52 Haiku
The imagery of a lonely old house always grabs me. I take pictures of them when I see them. And they often put in an appearance in my writing. Here’s a case in point. Towering, it stands. Long driveway spirals down the hill. Forbidding, it sits on Grecian poles. Dark and lonely are its windows….
Written in 1983. Life is: lessons to be learned dreams to be realized adventures to be experienced. The reason is: getting to know experiencing the new realizing the truth. I want to: learn know experience realize. I want, desire, need to grow.
Written in 1983. Wastepaper basket filled to the brim with wads of fresh, new paper. Desk cluttered with paper, ink and pencils. A slumped figure snores over a sheet of paper. The words “Once upon a time . . .” are scribbled out on the top line. Looking closer at the wads in the basket,…
This week’s haiku is a little dark. Not because I’m depressed — in fact, life has been pretty good lately and I’m happy — but because I wrote it while listening to Stella Pope Duarte talk about facing your fears and getting to know your inner universe. If you ever get a chance to hear…
On October 13, 1982, my diary entry consisted of mostly a poem. I now share with you that entry. Just F.Y.I.: each diary was given a name. For my Junior year in High School, my diary was named Duval, after a guy I liked the previous year. He died his senior year in a terrible…
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