6 February 2019 (waxwings)
Kristen Lindquist
flock of waxwings
gathered in morning light
and I gaping
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BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY
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flock of waxwings
gathered in morning light
and I gaping
a brief thaw
long shadows of trees
stretching in sunlight
new moon
street light standing in
as a substitute
river’s applause
from the open window
Super Bowl Sunday
after the opera
humming Carmen’s aria
in my cold car
morning ritual
cat following the sun
around the house
frozen in place
string of prayer flags
blessing the icicles
NB: Haiku are not supposed to have titles; a title is seen as a “fourth line,” an over-explanatory crutch. My “titles” have usually been a word or two as a reference for me to find a particular haiku again when I scroll through a month’s worth of posts. Even including that much, though, has bothered me, because I didn’t want them to be thought of or read as titles. So for now, I’m only going to “title” my haiku with the date. I’ll probably keep it up until the day I spend an hour searching for a specific haiku...
Today’s haiku is a variation of a response I made to some woodblock print images that I posted today as a prompt for my Virtual Haiku Workshop group on Facebook (if you’re on FB and interested, please send a request to join us).
Egrets in Snow (1927) by O’Hara Shoson (Koson)
white magic
snow disappearing
on the heron's back
power outage
the purring motor
of the cat
snail shell
in an old coat pocket
what we cling to
head down
nuthatch scrolling birch bark
fine print