A pencil on the street
I am too tired to return
and pick up the old thing

--Loeke Groenendal

( Desert Haiku )

STANDING STILL AT DUSK ( Read more... )

WHITE CLOUD OF MIST ( Read more... )

The first morning in April: the hour is one o'clock, the sky still dark and raining. This will be a busy month, but I have a plan. Poetry has been the theme of this journal since the beginning, occasionally leavened by RL and videos. I usually ignore National Poetry Month--in fact, the first year I was really aware of it, I deliberately used ( Read more... )

Four Seasons in Jerusalem: Winter

F. M. BlackJust traipsing about ( Read more... )

Four Seasons in Jerusalem: Fall

F. M. Black

Amid soldiers' graves,
a row of bright red roses
reminds me of spring.

With her aged hands,
an Arab woman harvests
the olive tree.

Not yet abloom--
the geraniums planted
in the army boots.

Like King David,
the clouds flee to the desert,
seeking refuge.

When they ask where we've gone, O Know-Nothing River,

be true to your name,

and simply say,

"I wonder."

A few of my winter haiku (written in class again, mostly).

( Read more )

And did it confuse them too, the men of old,
This road through the dawn, to me so new and strange?

--Genji