A HAIKU SEASONAL
skinny young men
grouped around the car’s raised hood
spring’s here
such faint fragrance
in this unknown wildflower
I should not have picked
spring cleaning-
dolls my daughter left
have slept twenty years
in the pocket
of his woodshed coveralls
a nest of deer mice
Canada Day
a maple leaf
floats downstream
summer’s cold
the fireplace brightly burns
next winter’s woodpile
beneath water
these stones
seem to be breathing
young bald eagles-
unimpressive
without white crowns
grandchild
snatched from the undertow
cries for her hat
a fine September
even yellow jackets drunk
on late blackberries
moss-hung trees
a deer moves into
the hunter’s silence
old graveyard
a student doing rubbings
wild geese cry
moonlit children
scatter among the headstones
playing frozen tag
pensioner
in the toy department
cuddles dolls
the crippled crow
hops on the icy edge
of the compost box
snowflakes fill
the eye of the eagle
fallen totem pole
driving at night
headlights part the darkness
not the falling snow
Winona Baker: wrote 6 poetry books; won haiku and tanka international awards; is in 90+ anthologies in N America, Europe, New Zealand and Japan; work translated into Japanese, Croatian, French, Greek, Yugoslavian and Romanian; latest book THE SLOUGH; currently working on a ms of Japanese forms of poety
