I thought this place could
help iron out my verses.
False advertising.
A few years ago, while visiting Maui, I made a special drive to check out this village with an irresistible name. That’s two hours of my life I’ll never get back.
A girl on a bike
passes through the streetlamp’s glow
and then she is gone
(2021)
This one is from three years ago, but somehow I never got around to posting it. I did not realize what I would miss about leaving Washington state three years ago. But on one of my last walks in the late winter evening damp I felt the impending loss of many things. I knew we would be moving soon.
My wife was learning to navigate life in a wheelchair after a fluke bike crash and subsequent spine surgery. We had lived for nearly 28 years in our two-story home, and now that she could no longer get up the stairs she resorted to sleeping in the dining room and showering at church.
On this evening, with her safely ensconced in bed, I got out for a bit of exercise. And I became keenly aware of loss. Our old life had already undergone drastic change and more big changes were coming soon.
The walks together through the changing seasons, up and down the hills and winding paths. The first spring crocus blossoms. The fragrance of cedar and plum blossoms. The chorus of song birds that woke us up on bright May mornings. The surprising glimpses of distant snow-capped peaks when the clouds parted. The long, perfect sunny, summer days. The brilliant leaves in autumn. The fog and mist and even the ubiquitous rain.
We would be leaving behind our dear neighbors and friendships forged over nearly three decades. Our familiar haunts, the used bookstore where I could always find an interesting old book of poetry. Not least, our home where we had raised our children, hosted countless dinners, laughed and conversed into the night, and where, without realizing it, we had grown old together.
It sunk in: I would miss it all.
No way we could know
at this playful reunion,
it would be our last.
(2015)
Notes: While there may be a later photo of my brothers and I all together, I do not know of it. Less than four years after this shot, Bill (third from the bottom) would perish in a scuba diving accident in San Diego bay.
John (second from the bottom) was an electrician who would touch the wrong wire in a Colorado coal mine many years later.
Larry (at the bottom) would die after a stroke in 2010.
I’m the last leaf on the tree.
Surely alder has
a purpose. But every spring
I sneeze and wonder.
(2019)
Notes: I really thought I had a good plan this year. Take off for two weeks on vacation at the beginning of March and when I returned, the alder allergy season would be drawing to a close.
Alas, crazy winter weather persisted while I was away and I returned mid-March to a greeting of pollen bursting out in all its glory.
Maybe I’ll just arrange to be elsewhere for all of March next year. A pity because it’s one of the prettiest months here in the Pacific Northwest.
Give Maui credit
As for my wife, I must say,
She looks younger here
(2015)
Back to Maui after four years and the place still works its magic.
Lone hummingbird comes
to poke our dying blossoms.
All the rest have gone.
NOTES: This summer we were visited daily by dozens of hummingbirds. We have four species native to Western Washington: Anna’s, Rufous, Calliope, and Black-Chinned. At first I was quite concerned for our persistent cold-weather guest, but I have since learned that the Anna’s Hummingbird is the only one of the four that does not migrate south for the winter. So apparently he knows what he is doing.
I wish I could take its picture, but I have neither the camera nor the skill to catch it. So an old print will have to do to illustrate today’s haiku.
The modest ginkgo
adorns herself in splendor
for All Hallows’ Eve.
NOTES: All Hallows’ Eve begins the 3-day observance of All Hallows’ Tide, dedicated to remembering the dead, including the saints, martyrs, and faithful departed.
According to current statistics from Open Doors, each month around the world, 322 Christians are killed for their faith,
When Canada burns,
smoke paints the sky with color.
But we’re all coughing.
(2017)
Notes: I regret that conditions have made it appropriate to repost this poem from last summer.
Back at the Ballard Market
Made my second trip back to the Ballard Market this summer.
I’m always in awe of poets persisting in their craft and striving to earn a living. the Ballard Market has a couple of regulars who do just that.
Seven and Elliot show up for work with their manual typewriters and their signs that read: “Poems: Your Topic. Your Price.”
They are the improvisational performance artists of the poetry world. If you engage one of them, they will tell you to name a topic and then give them a few minutes.
When you return from sampling the goat cheese and perusing the organic vegetables, they will have a short poem to your theme.
I asked Elliot to write about writer’s block (since that is a topic close to my heart!) Here is his effort:
That’s pretty insightful. I couldn’t do that on such short notice! I love the insight about “the voyage inside.”
Elliot told us that he can make some decent money “on a good day.” But, then there are other days when the take is not so good.
I shared my favorite Hayden Carruth haiku with him. The one about the Japanese haiku master Basho.
Basho, you made
A living writing haiku?
Wow! Way to go, man!
I’m always happy to see poets making a go of it.
Ah! Midsummer sun.
Blonde girl walking a black dog.
All downhill from here.
NOTES: We’ve come to that time again. Summer has peaked and feels like it is beginning to slip away.
Poetic Champions 