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.
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…
This poem, published at poetry.com, was written in 1992 after finding out a friend of mine got together with someone I had had a crush on for a long time. I was O.K. with it but it still hurt. This poem was part of my healing process. Now I know why the wolf howls at…
I just found this yesterday. It is the beginnings of a poem I wrote while sitting in a waiting room, feeling anxious. It was written sometime in late November, early December of 2011. The music in the waiting room is filled with anticipation, like the sound track of a video game on a constant loop….
Written Feb. 24, 1992. High upon a mountain my heart waits for you chained to a rock like Faye awaiting Kong Then they come picking and rending pieces of my heart They fly away like vultures with bits of Promethean liver hanging from their mouths I endure For how can I not? Like a modern…
Written in 1983. I see an image made of dust. This is something I cannot trust. But what of broadswords that are thrust? Soon their valor turns to rust.
Busy, busy, swamped! There is so much to do. ARG! Flat out occupied! Hmmm. I guess my busy life is beginning to get to me. Originally posted on 52 Haiku
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