Duck Blind

cattails and loosestrife
early autumn ritual
floral arrangements

three painted ladies
two dark tiger swallowtails
one shot viceroy

First seen on Hunting Haiku Daily

Landlady

A Hunter's Song

Now in the moon of Mabon
as the harvest and the hunt
draw the man from the hearth
and the warmth of his woman’s
good thighs…

we will see.

The home fires will be lit
and Branta canadensis
searching for maize, wheat, barley or oats
will fall to the siren call
of love or lessened hunger
in fields once thought to be
sanctuary.

The home fires will be lit
and the stag will err
with his velvet horn tattered
in his musty rut
and soon hang
as a pendant
of hubris.

The home fires will be lit
and the drakes will denounce
their mother’s wisdom
in favor of fantasy
sweet nothings
and death
from double reeds
double guns
and breath moistened cocobolo.

The home fires will be lit
and the bruin
in avarice and desperation
will blunder into the brambles
where he’ll know the singing
bowstring too late
with the taste of berries mixing with blood.

We will see
again
the dance of hunted and prey
of ourselves in the fray
and wonder aloud about our fate
as the home fires burn bright
in our absence.

Ringing of the Bards!

Want this badge?

Check it out!

The Ringing #11 September 2nd., 2006

Hosted by Pearl Pirie of Poetry Springs Boing, Curl, Sproing

Birdwatching

fall cardinal sins
legitimized voyeurs all
ornithologists

freed of longitude
a lilac-breasted roller
bathed in sandalwood

Black and Pink

urban garden spring
lost and found in verdant peace
absent fruit on vines

Black and Green

Indian Summer
when sugars are sought and found-
picnics with hornets

Black and Yellow

Hyena summer
black and blue the Southern Cross
my star is falling

Black and Blue

Through the Melodeon Window

Hey you, Cherry-Coke!
Yes, you
you Amish blacked
horse whip
cracking down the street.
Compel me,
opera mouthed
and gutsy.
Yeah you
you thick treaded
heel artist...
hi-jack me.
Grind it down,
mouthing the edict
to lay down my nets
and follow your fetish
through your plum cherry arbor.

Innocence

It was
and is
and ever will be
in the bottom drawer.

Paralysis strikes
watching the life run all out
the first and last hunt

indian summer
seven times faster than we
our friends come and go

The sleek lucky toe
broken not once but in two
sordid episodes.

Sugarplum on the 4th

Sparklers drip and pinwheels spin
mind aboard the carousel again
where choke cherry lips
and cotton candy grins
all yawn until the spinning
top
stops
stalls
and lights go out
mommies hushing
and school girls shout
"I can't see you, but I know you're here."
as borders blur
and smiles smear
like fudgy finger-painting
in electric dyes
or neon ink across the velvet
skies
skewed
the symbolic blots
kaliedoscopic crayons connect the dots
that bend the line
and slow the ride
that raced the heart
and pried the eyes
wide
open
ecstasy.

(re-inspired and re-discovered thanks to "Almost Literary.")