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Summer:

Cool night. The thick grass
recoils even before
my bare foot loses touch.


Newspaper on the table.
Out the window, leaves, deep sky--
nothing new.


Driving Cross- Country

The sun is up late.
We're crossing time zones--or does
the sun need winding?

Is a title cheating -- evading the limitation on syllables? Maybe. Probably. Well, yes.


Over the blue pool
skims a shiny red frisbee
too quick to reflect.


Summer grows old,
blue sky showing
through holes in each leaf.


The leaves of a whole treetop
lift off--
starlings!


Brown spots on the lawn.
Under the sprinkler - wet
brown spots.


Hot dry west Texas day -
even thoughts
slow to a drawl.


The lawn mower stalls.
Silence. Green blue breezy chirpy
silence.


Invisible,
a lone firefly slowly sets
in the western lawn.


Lit, they rise,
downward drift darkened,
Couples in the grass.


Summer sky - no clouds,
just whiteness. Can't we
change the channel?


Gray-brown traffic noise
saturates the morning's
blue-green-gold.


Chill, blue - Fall?
Outside, the same blue...but HOT!
Air conditioning.


Noon.
I go inside to retrieve
my shadow.


Grass no longer velvet -
silky in the sun,
time to mow.


Dusk - I climb the hill,
putting the sun back
in the sky.


After morning shower,
sunlight through green elms and steam,
taste of toothpaste.


Summer - waiting for juice...
SPLAT! The waitress drops
a whole watermelon.


On the glare of cement,
a bee, still - dead? alive?
I start to sweat.


Hot hot day.
Teeth, tongue linger tenderly -
ripe cherries.


Florida summer
sweats on me faster than I
can sweat on it.


Mountainous cloud --
could giant hands squeeze it
into my hands.


Summer night --
water sound...we just had
that toilet fixed!

An allusion to what is usually considered the first haiku, Basho's poem: The old pond -- a frog jumps in -- water sound.


Shiny wet maple leaves,
torn off green, roll in the wind
silently.

This was in Ithaca, NY, one rainy night late in the summer, big green maple leaves wafting along the sidewalk past my feet, as if they'd been too impatient to wait for autumn.


Newspaper on the table;
out the window, leaves,
deep sky -- nothing new.


Monarch perched on a rose,
as redundant
as summer.


Day-lily: The sex parts
curve up, come-hither fingers
to bees.


August. Almost sat
on the cat, draped across
my chair.


Van Nuys in July.
Clouds boil over the valley rim --
rain, please?...
smoke.

Note: It was a hot dry summer. At first, seeing clouds appear over the northern rim of the San Fernando Valley, I hoped they heralded rain -- after all, they were dark. Then I realized they were clouds of smoke from some distant grass fire.


Radio music
in a cool room. Shouts outside --
softball in the sun.


Mid-day. From a cloud
one wisp detaches...
the moon!


Sign of mid-summer:
heart stirs at the first sight
of a Baskin-Robbin.

Note: Clearly a senryu, even a groaner -- the first Robbin of spring. But I couldn't resist putting it in among these snobbish haiku.


Those summer trees
could go on forever...
hum of cars.


All day, all night
car noise. Hearing my blood...
Ah, no cars!.


From tiny trembles
of leaves comes this roar
of motors?


Listening to cars...
now I can just barely hear
birds singing.


Hard to hear birds
over car noise. No wonder
they shit on them.


Shutting the window
muffles car noise...
and birds.


Shutting the window
hushes cars. I can hear
the air conditioner.


Spring

Summer

Autumn

Winter

Rain

Wind

Night

Morning

Dusk

Walking

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Children

Lovers

Loss and Loneliness and aloneness

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Old Age

Music

A Poet's Life

Cats

Dogs

Beasts

Birds

Insects

Plants

Trees

Telephones and TVs

Things

Mankind