Saturday, May 30, 2015

Ladybug light

Ladybug light, alight on my knee

(my aunt’s favorite dress was older than me)

Friday, May 29, 2015

Up through the boot

Up through the boot the grass finds its way
Up on the knoll past the root of the tree
Up to the shin and up to the knee

sure as I lie here, waiting for thee

And all the bright clouds
And all the gray gulls
And all the hands held

still matter to me

Thursday, May 28, 2015

Tiny blue flowers

Tiny blue flowers, dressed to forget what you were about to say

(but never the first to look away)

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

Your faithful mirror

Your faithful mirror
and what you see from there;

a lake, the sky, such fine
disguise you bear

(comes night, dies light, a falling star)

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

What will I unlearn today?

What will I unlearn today? what treasured grief will cast away,
what stubborn pride yet holding sway, what tenant haughty view?

What treble rhyme, what bass profound, as darkened thought,
and brooding brow? in deed, what now, my love?

(’tis soft and gray today; with joy, from me, to you)

Sunday, May 24, 2015

Knowledge and doubt

Knowledge and doubt

two crickets make a symphony

a field is the note

a tree is down

a spring is at its root

Friday, May 22, 2015

Canvas 557

Canvas 557

May 22, 2015


Rain — exactly the weight a young flower
can bear — forehead to ground,
the first morning prayer

(and up on the road a kingdom is there)

Thursday, May 21, 2015

Canvas 556

Canvas 556

May 21, 2015

When gloomy looks the green

Those days when gloomy looks the green
and black the joy — and give thanks for these:
what lacy willow bending knows, the water’s edge
as changing flows, gives back the sheen:
where love is, as ever goes, you too
have been.

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Fifty-nine times around the sun

Fifty-nine times around the sun

(stars have come and stars have gone)

Fifty-nine times around the sun

(word is love and love is song)

Sunday, May 17, 2015

Friends of Silence


Warm thanks to Linda DeGraf for republishing a poem of mine
in the May 2015 issue of the Friends of Silence newsletter (Vol. XXVIII, No. 5).
The poem, also available in the newsletter’s print edition,
previously appeared in the Spring 2015 issue of Akitsu Quarterly.


We are also, this morning, in receipt of this touching dedication,
which comes on the wings of C.P. Cavafy,

“ . . . the image of which
crossed twenty-six years; and has come now
to remain in this poetry.”

Thank you, Monika, for your gracious thought.

Saturday, May 16, 2015

Akitsu Quarterly

The spring issue is lovely, and the summer issue will be out soon.

Spring 2015

original haiku, haibun, and brushwork by

Jeannie Martin ~ William Michaelian ~ Ken Sawitri
Kyoko Shibata ~ Tim Gardiner ~ Billy Antonio
John McManus ~ Helen Buckingham ~ Bill Waters
Caroline Skanne ~ Alexis Rotella ~ Debbie Strange
Brad Bennett ~ Tom Clausen ~ Laura Williams
Diana Teneva ~ Pamela A. Babusci ~ David L. Young
Jimat Achmadi ~ Pat Geyer

(work also forthcoming in the Summer 2015 issue)

Robin White & Evelyn Lang, Editors
111 Nottingham Rd
Deerfield, NH 03037

USA Subscription $18 for 4 issues
International Subscription $26 for 4 issues
Individual issues available for $6

US Checks or Money Orders made payable to


Payment by Paypal also accepted

Thursday, May 14, 2015

The greatest of all gifts

Last night there came a dream
in which I was granted the greatest of all gifts:
my mortality. I washed myself to prepare,
and, in the act of washing, I let go
of every care.

I carefully soaped my hair.

I did not wish, or try, to defend myself;
I took no courage; I felt no fear.

No death wish, or life wish,

And when, suddenly, so unexpectedly,
my eyes opened on the night, there was no relief,
or start, or fright.

Only joy, as a song feels,
when its voice is taking flight.

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

Canvas 537

Since mid-February, I’ve made quite a few more drawings. This is the first.

Canvas 537

February 19, 2015

Sunday, May 10, 2015

How it would be had you not been born

How it would be had you not been born,
when a leaf, a rose, and a garden coming on
make a fair field for a broken lance
and sky of sparrow shorn:

one less sun, imagine that, and bless one
torn of chance, confess what can’t be known
save by the strange and savage dance you love to live
and mourn, and give, and pass along:

had you nought not knot been sought in kind,
caught in tangled skein again,
what then?

(as if to grant what can’t begin can ever have an end)