punctuated birds on the powerline

on the side of the road staring at the clouds. everything comes together perfectly.

harmony
takes a form
morning mist

gunslingers

haiku poets are the hired killers of poetry. strolling down main street. encountering life. we take aim are your emotions and leave the ‘thinking’ to anyone else. then up on our high horse and out of town. jus like that.

ruts in the road
i follow a metaphor
home

closed eyes

sometimes you just need to sit very still and close your eyes. the parade ends and your smallest thoughts float through your mouth and leave. silently.

afraid to let anyone know
cementing myself
to a breeze

a soliloquy to the wind

breeze. we breathe it and use it to blow out candles.

making me wise
in the still air
butterfly wings

a flock of wah wahs

lifes been good. and now after a hard and long winter i see my first butterfly. the geese are overhead and the turkey vultures are circling. squirrels are scattering under the deck to stay out of the coopers hawks sight lines. spring just cant slow down and neither can i. life cycles are a bitch in northern michigan. but  spring is all around me.

lookout
an owl surveys
the entire forest

singer in a rock and roll band

i should have learned to play the guitar. maybe sing a little or a lot. and learn music too. yeah that would help with all the other stuff. but if i had done all that then i most likely would be long dead. kurt cobain sang leadbelly and he died way too young. yeah best that i was a banker doing leases for a living. i guess it all worked out the way it had to. 

childhood
mirrored closet doors and
the shine from my air guitar

at the end of the light

when the day ends. i have the dangling glow of the big dipper. i am watching stars whose light has traveled all day to meet me. turning around on the path i cant see the road. only black holds my eyes. keen senses will have to guide me.

journey home
i linger with slow breaths
in the woods