Favorite Tanka selected by Tom Clausen

15 Sunday Dec 2013

Posted by in Tom selected favorites

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son of mine
what’s done is done…
seed by seed, I’d breathe
back the dandelion clock,
place its stem in your hand
– Claire Everett
 *
*
*
*
thirty years
on the job
I’ve become
something of an expert
on what’s unimportant
    – John Stevenson
 *
*
*
*
all I found
when I Googled my father
was his obituary
    a small wind releases
      the song of the wind chime
   – Margaret Chula
 *
*
*
*
inscribed,
with enduring love
my darling,
the book he found
at a rummage sale
  – John Martell
*
*
*
*
the unknown man
who stared down the tanks-
we love him
and also the one
who pulled him aside
  – John Stevenson
 *
*
*
*
Bee’s, butterflies, birds
swaying meadow flowers
and something more…
just beyond
comprehension
– George Swede
*
*
*
*
how you say
everything
I wanted to hear
now that it’s
too late
– Rose Hunter
 *
*
*
*
so many years ago
the night she left me,
and still it lingers:
on the car radio a song
just right for my blues
– Sanford Goldstein
 *
*
*
*
Noticed
right away among
the smooth pebbles
of the Zen garden
a small, jagged stone
– George Swede
 *
*
*
*
no matter
if I never take
another lover-
I have your imprint
our children and the sea
– Amelia Fielden
*
*
*
*
after I am gone
break my plate
bury my pen
plant flowers
in my cup
– Michael Ketchek
 *
*
*
*
Thunder at dawn
shakes me out of a dream
I didn’t want to leave
that green space in the woods
where wildflowers hide
– Carol Purington
 *
*
*
*
in this season
of falling leaves
how easy
to watch dreams vanish
in wisps of autumn smoke
– Angela Leuck
 *
*
*
*
one’s life
can no more be entrusted
to another
than can the timing
of a perfect soft-boiled egg
– Mariko Kitakubo
 *
*
*
*
my parents and in-laws
moving toward senility
suddenly
there’s  no one
I need to impress
– Margaret Chula
 *
*
*
*
wanting to stay,
I could not,
and leaving,
I wanted
to write ten thousand poems
 – Sanford Goldstein
 *
*
*
*
we drive in silence
and even though I offer
occasional smiles
you know you’ll never reach where
it is that my thoughts wander
  – Jean Jorgensen
 *
*
*
*
Seeing a layer
of dust on the surface
of my bathroom mirror,
I traced a finger through it
to make a Happy face
 – Karma Tenzing Wangchuk
 *
*
*
*
she says she
owns two very fine cats,
though probably
unaware that cats do not
have owners, only staff
  – Art Stein
 *
*
*
*
as if she feels
how much I am missing you
already
a girl near me on the plane
begins to weep
  – Laura Maffei
*
*
*
*
Gone all morning
I come home for lunch
and scratch his ears
– my little dog
so happy with so little
  – Pat Shelley
 *
*
*
*
November chill-
tangles of silver caught
in my brush.
Tell me
I’m still yours
  – Pamela Miller Ness
 *
*
*
*
wakeful
in early darkness
I plan
how to fit twenty things
into a ten thing day
   – Kirsty Karkow
 *
*
*
*
maybe we’ll meet again
in the fullness of tomorrow’s moon
alone in my room
I notice how smoothly my jeans
slide off my hips
   – Thelma Mariano
*
*
*
*
if it’s not the headlines
it’s a dead deer by the roadside
or something else
I just keep tripping over
the first noble truth
   – Michael Ketchek


*
*
*
*
I, who
have almost nothing,
want little
beyond freedom from this
freedom from that
  – Karma Tenzing Wangchuk
 *
*
*
*
The huge reservoir
beyond the dam
thinking of my wife
I realize the great value
of holding back my words
   – Michael Ketchek
*
*
*
*
semester’s last class
and his twenty-two students
end their stiff questions-
the moment comes like a winged bird
like a Prometheus unbound
  – Sanford Goldstein
 *
*
*
*
barefoot
on warm sand
my toes
inches from the whole
Atlantic Ocean
  – Art Stein
*
*
*
*
wondering for years
what would be
my life’s defining moment
      an egret staring at me
      me staring back
  – Jeanne Emerich
*
*
*
*
brick factory building
abandoned twenty year-
the small town boys
still haven’t broken
every window
  – Michael Ketchek
 *
*
*
*
Clouds gather
and part, gather and part.
So will we.
Even now, it seems,
we’re gathering, parting
  – Karma Tenzing Wangchuk
 *
*
*
*
dry seeds scatter
from my hand into the wind-
one clings
as if to say there is in me
something yet to be
  – Jeanne Emerich
 *
*
*
*
I walk fast
as if far is not
far enough
as if these loved fields
were not gift enough
  – Caroline Gourlay
 *
*
*
*
Come quickly- as soon as
these blossoms open
they fall
this world exists
as a sheen of dew on flowers
  – Lady Izumi Shikibu
 *
*
*
*
She waits
in purple- lidded privacy
ignoring the tea
with a sweep of one hand
sends the waitress away
  – Patricia Prime
 *
*
*
*
they say the moon
little by little each day
moves away
I confess to no one
what strangers we have become
 – Marjorie Buettner
 *
*
*
*
How afraid
so many of us are of life-
not wanting
to leave behind the known
not knowing whats ahead
  – Karma Tenzing Wangchuk
 *
*
*
*
an old photograph
of my parents
young and happy,
    of all the things I own
    that is the saddest
  – Michael McClintock
*
*
*
*
how will I know you
on the Internet-
in Cyberspace-
without the warmth of your voice
the touch of your hand
   – Pat Shelley
 *
*
*
*
Here in the desert,
spring is over just like that,
Our lives, too, are short.
Who knows whether you and I
will meet in the next world?
  – Karma Tenzing Wangchuk
*
*
*
*
writing
on the back of the letter
she wrote to me
      a poem about windows
      and distance
   – Leatrice Lifshitz
 *
*
*
*
Thinking about it,

what else is there but this—
birth, death,
and something in between
of uncertain duration?
   – Karma Tenzing Wangchuk
 *
*
*
*
walking
the railroad tracks
alone-
more and more we live
our parallel lives
  – Larry Kimmel
 *
*
*
*
parting with
my telescope
and with it
a certain way
of seeing myself
   – John Stevenson
 *
*
*
*
Department meeting:
while the mouths utter business
the eyes ripple with
someone sailing, someone fishing
someone drowning
    – George Swede
*
*
*
*
long after she’s left
the garden she tended
weeds reclaim the flowerbeds
my heart too
has grown wild
   – Brian Tasker
*
*
*
*
invited at last
to meet his parents
i find myself
wondering which me
i should wear
   – Doris Kasson
*
*
*
*
you climb
a speck on the rockface
of the mountain-
waiting here below it is
I who am exposed
  – Caroline Gourlay
 *
*
*
*
vacation’s end
the highway still unraveling
when I close my eyes
how many parts of myself
have I left homeless behind
  – Marjorie Buettner
 *
*
*
*
he’s traveled
these highways most of his life
yet today
somewhere between anger and tears
old man admits he is lost
  – Jean Jorgensen
 *
*
*
*
I tell my guardian angel
I’ll happily die
in April
alas, each April comes
and I tell her I’m not ready
  – Pat Shelley
 *
*
*
*
I had read
your love poems
and now,
having met you,
read them again
  – John Stevenson
*
*
*
*
far down the valley
she waves and calls to me
I love her more
in the time it takes
her voice to arrive
    – John Sheirer
*
*
*
*
sleeping
on my lap
the cat
becomes a book-rest
for my other world
  – Carolyn Thomas
 *
*
*
*
her plane disappears
into starlight…
and somewhere
in her luggage
my love poem
  – Michael Dylan Welch
 *
*
*
*
watching
the storm tossed trees
through glass
afraid to let myself go
where the wind would take me
  – Alison Williams
 *
*
*
*
in the curve of light
the crash and spray
of the full-moon tide;
   for a moment with arms crossed
   the power of my youth
  – Jeff Witkin
 *
*
*
*
the wind-blown clouds
lighten and darken
lighten and darken
the room
in which we argue
  – Brian Tasker
*
*
*
*
A subway train,
traveling beside ours,
veers up and away.
My feelings for you
go where they go
  – John Stevenson
*
*
*
*
hair clean and long
sun-dried in the wind
my face
searches the blue sky
for its final destination
  – Jane Reichhold
 *
*
*
*
this road
connecting to another
that to another
until reaching the spot
where i will turn cold
  – William Ramsey
 *
*
*
*
Not to disturb
the spider in her web
between two trees
I take
the other path
  – Pat Shelley
 *
*
*
*
Writing a poem
of longing for her
I’m irritated
by the interruption
of her phone call
  – George Swede
 *
*
*
*
dawn
and you open
your deep-green eyes-
blackbirds stir
somewhere in the conifers
  – John Barlow
 *
*
*
*
with a man
who was once
the center of my universe
I discuss
interest rates
  – Fay Aoyagi
 *
*
*
*
not a single star
out of place in the
 milky way-
the garden gate
left ajar all night
  – Pamela Babusci
 *
*
*
*
just five minutes
pressed against a stranger
on a crowded train
so why do I spend my day
dreaming of a life with her?
  – John Barlow
 *
*
*
*
on the night train
through that foreign land
I waver once
glimpsing
a lit farm kitchen
  – Marianne Bluger
 *
*
*
*
Ice in the corners
of my bedroom window
reminds me
how long it’s been
since I saw her last.
   – Karma Tenzing Wangchuk
 *
*
*
*
Almost invisible
the zero
I traced
only last week
in the mantle dust…
 – Marianne Bluger
 *
*
*
*
in the dark
a tawny owl calls
unanswered
I pour out my last drop
of whiskey
  – John Barlow
*
*
*
*
late spring hike
the trail still full of snow
on the north slope
we take turns walking
in each other’s footsteps
   – David Rice
 *
*
*
*
weeding in the garden
humming to myself
suddenly a mourning dove
calls from me some sadness
I can’t quite name
     – Mary Lou Bittle-DeLapa
*
*
*
*
*
Several languages
and a thousand theorems
safe in his cranium
how serene my father
looks in death
 – Marianne Bluger
 *
*
*
*
all day at my desk
to glance up
at sunset
the housebricks
a deeper red
   – Brian Tasker
 *
*
*
*
in the ship’s wake
a pair of sea gulls
follow, then tail off
in different directions
the words I meant to say
   – Carlos Colon
 *
*
*
*
*
I’m never happier
than at dawn, walking down
a mountain trail,
the day ahead an empty bowl
waiting to be filled
   – Karma Tenzing Wangchuk  ( for Marian Olson )
 *
*
*
*
thinking of my wife
I accidentally say
I love you
to a stranger’s
answering machine
    – John Sheirer
*
*
*
*
it takes
this thick snowfall
to remind me
how thin and more thin
is my desire
 – Sanford Goldstein
*
*
*
*
overlooking the moor
it came to me here;
a feeling of loneliness
brought by the wind
the warmth of the sun
  – Brian Tasker
*
*
*
*
in morning fog
we ship our oars and drift
between loon calls
all that’s left of this world
the warmth of our bodies
  – Christopher Herold
 *
*
*
*
a sudden loud noise
all the pigeons of Venice
at once fill the sky
that is how it felt when your hand
accidentally touched mine
   – Ruby Spriggs
 *
*
*
*
  the spirit again
as a crab in a shell
   able to walk
sideways into the sea
  and back to you
   – Werner Reichhold
 *
*
*
*
Snow on the peaks
of the far mountains
faintly blue…
packing my few things
for the winter road
 – Karma Tenzing Wangchuk
 *
*
*
*
Dressing
for a meal I’ll eat
alone
I decide to let loose
my hair.
    – Pamela Miller Ness
 *
*
*
*
after the long night
near my dying mother’s bed
I turn from her face
to watch the gathering light
in another morning sky
  – Jerry Kilbride
*
*
*
*
one derelict boat
lost in a maze of mudflats
in the setting sun
    automatically I think
    of my life- nothing like that!
   David Steele
 *
*
*
*
a wintry evening
all the way back to the car;
hardly knowing her
yet so intimately
her perfume remains
 – Brian Tasker
*
*
*
*
suddenly
caught:
the emptiness
in that girl’s
yawn
  – Sanford Goldstein
*
*
*
*
when I think
we may never
meet again…
this hillside of aspens
endlessly fluttering
 – Larry Kimmel
 *
*
*
*
listening to you
talk about him, about you,
about them, about me,
and now, here it is, somehow
the dinner I made for us
  – Christopher Herold
 *
*
*
*
like receipts
of a business
gone bankrupt
I keep
these old love letters
  – Kenneth Tanemura
 *
*
*
*
Wind, do not tease me
do not muss my hair
My joy is too large for the house
and I cannot go in
to await his coming
  – Pat Shelley
 *
*
*
*
these hands
slicing onions for dinner…
but my heart has gone
to wherever it is
that you are
  – Christopher Herold
 *
*
*
*
warm in bed-
I wonder
where the birds
are weathering
the storm
  – Kenneth Tanemura
 *
*
*
*
This is a selection of some of my favorite tanka from Takuboku, whose tanka honesty I find refreshing and inspiring. It was his tanka that sparked my interest in tanka after discovering them in his book titled : Poems to Eat.
*
*
the trouble is
every man
keeps a prisoner
groaning
in his heart
 *
*
came to
a mirror shop
what a jolt-
I could’ve been
some bum walking by
 *
*
unforgettable
that face-
man in the street
laughing, police
dragging him off
*
*
having buried
my youth
you keep kissing
the gravestone
you built
 *
*
like a train
through the wilderness
every so often
this torment
travels across my mind
*
*
everybody’s
heading in
the same direction-
I watch
from the sidelines
 *
*
never forget
that man, tears
running down his face
a handful of sand
held out to show me
*
*
wrote GREAT
in the sand
a hundred times
forgot about dying
and went on home
*
*
regrets
live secretly
inside me
these days-
won’t let me laugh
 *
*
feels like
there’s a cliff
in my head
crumbling
day by day
*
*
like a kite
cut from the string
the soul
of my youth
has fluttered away
*
*
always come
to this gloomy bar
the late sunset
reddening, shines
right in my drink
 *
*
guy I saw
on a park bench
once or twice
don’t see
him lately…
 *
*
somehow
tomorrow will
be better-
yeah, sure…
I go to sleep

Favorite Senryu- selected by Tom Clausen

15 Sunday Dec 2013

Posted by in Tom selected favorites

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“Great day”   I say,
my neighbor, not to be outdone, says,
“Best one yet”
  – Frank Robinson
**
The laugh’s on me:
   this year’s man
     is last year’s man
        – Ching-An
 **
on the freeway
discussing the chocolate bar
in the trunk
    – Dee Evetts
 **
The last kid picked
running his fastest
 to right field
 – Mike Dillon
 **
       deadline approaches
    my nose drips
faster
    – John Stevenson
 **
 radio interview
the candidate
adjusts her hair
 – Hilary Tann
 **
 even with the mikes on
 the politician
shouts
  – Anita Virgil
 **
She’s running for office-
for the first time
my neighbor waves!
 – Alexis Rotella
 **
neighbor’s children leave…
casually the cat slips out
of the hall closet
– Patricia Neubauer
 **
birdsong
my imaginary lover
alive again
– Yu Chang
**
300 miles away-
my father makes sure
I hear him sigh
  – Alexis Rotella
 **
 remote village
 after the camera’s click
 her smile
 – Ruth Yarrow
 **
Undressed-
today’s role dangles
from a metal hanger
– Alexis Rotella
 **
channel dispute
she aims the clicker
at me
 – Dee Evetts
 **
nothing good on t.v.
every channel
 for about three hours now
 – John Sheirer
 **
three times I’ve said
 “your husband…”
now we can just talk
– John Stevenson
**
safe for a while
around the haiku poets
a fly
– Mykel Board
 **
his dust mask
a hole poked through it
 for the cigarette
– Dee Evetts
**
 bad movie
 I’m only awake
during the explosions
– John Sheirer
**
 table for one
 the waiter doesn’t
 light my candle
– Bruce Detrick
**
in the breakdown lane
I contemplate
my life
  – John Sheirer
 **
new flypaper
she waves her arms
to get them going
 – Dee Evetts
 **
 strap hanging
a top view
of his careful hairdo
– Karen Sohne
 **
first cold night
the fat tomcat hangs from
the window screen
 – Carl Patrick
 **
 road construction
my life
still under construction
– John Sheirer
 **
his “eyeball it”
for the rest of our days
a crooked wall…
– Carol Montgomery
 **
turning down the t.v.
   to hear more
of the neighbors’ argument
               – John Sheirer
 **
 my easy heart
 two drinks
 and it’s love
– Michael Ketchek
 **
 checking the driver
as I pass a car
 just like mine
– John Stevenson
**
 loud applause
for the last speech
 before lunch
 – Dee Evetts
 **
 while I’m gone
 my dog
 takes the driver’s seat
– Christopher Herold
 **
Clear about
everything
the window washer
 – vincent tripi
 **
 20,000 feet
 traces of masking tape
on the jet engine
– Dee Evetts
**
Empty school bus;
smile on the face
of the driver
   – Garry Gay
**
bags
under his eyes-
traveling salesman
– Michael Dylan Welch
 **
Weight lifter
slowly lifting
the tea cup
 – Garry Gay
**
single living
I allow the kettle
a full whistle
 – Carmen Sterba
 Oscar night
adjusting the cuffs
of my pajamas
  – John Stevenson
 **
the men on both sides
have taken
my armrests
       – Karen Sohne
 **
inserting a piece
 in my jigsaw puzzle
 the TV repairman
 – Francine Porad
**
paint by number
the child’s river
escapes its bank
   – Tom Painting
**
 my nephew’s fast ball-
 I hand back the glove
 and keep the sting
– Barry George
 **
morning commute-
recognizing
most of the strangers
 – Dorothy McLaughlin
 half-empty bed
 I try to recall
 his faults
 – Peggy Heinrich
 **
war begins-
my husband and I
stop bickering
   – Margaret Chula
 **
mid morning bus
 no one young enough
 to give up their seat
– Sheila Butterworth
**
game over
men turn to leave
the tv department
– John Stevenson
 **
 on my dying bed
 a neighbor reads out
 the ball scores
– H.F. Noyes
 **
January 3rd
the Weight Watchers meeting
doubles in size
    – Carolyn Hall
 **
store window
the young couple take turns
testing the double bed
  – Dee Evetts
 **
new hammock-
my beer on the other side
of the porch
     – Mark Brooks
 fiftieth birthday
standing a little closer
 to the toilet
 – Mykel Board
 **
the mirror
wiped clean
for a guest
– John Stevenson
 **
long night
 I adjust my breathing
 to his
– Francine Porad
 **
Starbuck’s
a man in cowboy boots
asks for latte
    – Yu Chang
 **
by phone
my sister says
we are in touch
– Hilary Tann
**
word for word
she remembers
our last argument
 – John Sheirer
 **
 Trying to forget him
stabbing
 the potatoes
– Alexis Rotella
 **
 running away,
 Mommy
 helps me pack
 – Adele Kenny
 **
midwest interstate
car ahead signals a turn
for fifty-nine miles
– John Sheirer
**
 girls in bikinis

the man I’m with
trying not to look
– Brenda Gannam
**
on the twelfth floor
a life’s work holds open
the book-reviewer’s door
– Martin Burke
 **
While the guests order,
 the table cloth hides his hands-
counting his money
 – Clement Hoyt
**
new dean
all blackboards
turn white
– Yu Chang
 **
 red light
 I study the face
 of my tailgater
 – Hilary Tann
 **
eye exam
i stop trying
 so hard
  – Hilary Tann
**
circuits lab
his mistakes
in the air
– Yu Chang
 **
A selection of classic senryu from old time senryu anthologies in Japan:
when a man
comes asking for a loan
how honest he looks!
 *
*
*
someone at the door:
the scolding session
stops – for awhile
 *
*
*
when he finally
falls in love with his wife
the end is near
*
*
*
she’s been let go
yet in her mother’s words
“she’s left him”
*
*
*
“Don’t let this worry you”
he says, then tells you something
that has to worry you
 *
*
*
his wife knows
how to scare a collector:
“He’s down with typhoid”
*
*
*
the weapon he uses
for threatening his mother:
a distant land
*
*
*
now that he has a child
he knows all the local dogs
by name
 *
*
*
a son kicked out-
several houses down the street
a wife is divorced
*
*
*
the whole town
knows of it, except
the husband
*
*
*
“Bad for my health”-
when you begin to feel so
you’ve begun to age
*
*
*
    the wife-
so much harder to handle
than the mother
*
*
*
having lash out
too much at his wife
he’s cooking the rice
*
*
*
since their baby was born
telling him what to do
has become her habit
*
*
*
suckling the baby
in bed, she shakes her head
at her husband
*
*
*
convenient
and inconvenient-
having a wife
*
*
*
no nagging on the day
her husband was a winner-
now there’s a woman!
*
*
*
“Just a father-in-law
whose days are numbered”
says the matchmaker
*
*
*
professional smile
of the mortician’s wife:
a look of grief
*
*
*
to put it briefly
courting is tantamount
to begging
*
*
*
“older daughter first”
the parents kept saying, until
the younger eloped
*
*
*
the love letter
from the man she doesn’t care for
she shows it to mother
*
*
*
first eye to eye
then hand to hand
and mouth to mouth
*
*
*
many excuses
he has used before – his wife
remembers them all
*
*
*
her husband’s
becoming a little too kind
weighs on her mind
 *
*
*
united at last
in death, a pair
of happy faces

Favorite Haiku-little poems selected by Tom Clausen

15 Sunday Dec 2013

Posted by in Tom selected favorites

≈ 9 Comments

losing its name
a river
enters the sea

— John Sandbach

children squealing
slowly the oldest gorilla
focuses elsewhere

— Ruth Yarrow

The thief left it behind,
the moon
at the window

— Ryokan

What is really ours? In the sense of this haiku ( my personal favorite) what we “own” or possess may be very little… perhaps our memories of who we once were or what we once had… perhaps some understanding and then…

The moon
broken again and again on the sea
so easily mends

— Choshu

aware
of the heart:
handling glassware

— Raymond Roseliep

A firefly flitted by:
“Look”! I almost said
but I was alone

— Taigi

Simply trust:
do not the petals flutter down,
just like that

— Issa

poppy-
both of us
simply alive

— Issa

The next morning
rereading the last page
of the happy ending

— Tom Tico

free at last, the fly
flew out the window-and then
right back in again

— James Hackett

monastery bell
the curled cat opens its eyes
closes them again

— Jerry Kilbride

Today it struck me-
the thought of red suns setting
after I’m gone

— Gunther Klinge

vacation over–
hearing the sea
in the traffic’s roar

— Pamela Miller Ness

the old cat carries off
a little sunshine
on his back

— Anita Virgil

Everyone is asleep
there is nothing to come between
the moon and me

— Enomoto Siefu-Jo

warm evening
an open door
to someone’s living room

— John Stevenson

This huge ocean-
I could stand here forever
it would still come to me

— Proxade Davis

when I have sat long enough
the red dragonfly
comes to the wheatgrass

— Laurie Stoelting

Resting…
the sagging fence
goes on up the hill

— Foster Jewell

coming home
flower
by
flower

— Jane Reichhold

fence fallen away
I close the rusted gate
behind me

— Yvonne Hardenbrook

in the pollen
on my car
her signature

— John Stevenson

old passport
the tug
of my father’s smile

— Yu Chang

cabin steps
fresh birch seeds
since morning

— Hilary Tann

as the light fails,
still hammering
from the treehouse

— Lee Gurga

noh play-
watching the throat
behind the mask

— Hilary Tann

waiting for you
another pair of headlights
through the fog

— Yu Chang

amber light…
creased in the roadmap
a place we’ve been

— Peggy Willis Lyles

Across the fields
a swallow carrying one hair
from the plow horse

— vincent tripi

migrating geese-
once there was so much
to say

— Adele Kenny

lone red-winged blackbird
riding a reed in high-tide-
billowing clouds

— Nick Vigilio

in autumn rain
looking back at the smoke
from my chimney

— Anita Virgil

in the mountains
a roadhouse sign goes out
clouds blow off the stars

— Cor van den Heuvel

The little breeze
that touched my face
returns

— Alexis Rotella

a deep bruise
I don’t remember getting
autumn evening

— John Stevenson

crowded bus through fog
someone singing
in another language

— Ruth Yarrow

In this empty web,
left by a will to be free
a pair of small wings

— James Hackett

Just leaves
where the carnival
was

— Alexis Rotella

winter evening
leaving father’s footprints
I sink into deep snow

— Nick Virgilio

stalled car
foot tracks being filled
with snow

— Gary Hotham

the river-
coming to it with nothing
in my hands

— Leatrice Lifshitz

how silently
the wave-tossed log is beached
and snow-flaked

— Geraldine C. Little

At the summit tree,
my exhausted dog lifts his leg
a dry formality

— James Hackett

the old man
blows his nose then smells
the daisy

— John Wills

Moving with
the clock tower’s shadow
the flower lady

— Alexis Rotella

as the sun comes out
a sail appears from behind
the island

— Cor van den Heuvel

summer night
the tide flows
from the estuary

— John Stevenson

On the rabbit’s fur
just enough snow
to be snow

— vincent tripi

at the corner
she finds a wind to spin
the pinwheel faster

— Gary Hotham

old slippers
the comfort
coming apart

— John Stevenson

night of the blizzard:
my snow angel glowing
under a street lamp

— Adele Kenny

a crow in the snowy pine
inching up a branch,
letting the evening sun through

— Nick Virgilio

no sound to this
spring rain-
but the rocks darken

— Anita Virgil

dark road
sparks from a cigarette
bounce behind a car

— Cor van den Heuvel

Old Lincoln-
a deeper lavender
where the wrench lay

— Alexis Rotella

another bend
now at last the moon
and all the stars

— John Wills

pueblo roof edge
Hopi mother pats the dance
into her baby’s back

— Ruth Yarrow

An old spider web
low above the forest floor,
sagging full of seeds

— James Hackett

The day i find,
the day it finds,
firefly

— vincent tripi

Indian summer-
we ride around town
just to be riding

— Lenard D. Moore

Saturday downpour-
swiveling the stool
at the soda counter

— H.F. Noyes

A wisp of spring cloud
drifting apart from the rest
slowly evaporates

— Tom Tico

Old pond:
frog jump in
water sound

— Basho

oppossum bones
wedged in an upper fork-
budding leaves

— Lee Gurga

A Halloween mask
floating face up in a ditch
slowly shakes its head

— Clement Hoyt

Lean-to of tin;
a pintail on the river
in the pelting rain

— Robert Spiess

In a tight skirt
a woman sweeping leaves
into the wind

— Virginia Brady Young

a poppy…
a field of poppies!
the hills blowing with poppies

— Michael McClintock

the flick of high beams-
out of the dark roadside ditch
leaps a tall grass clump

— Paul O. Williams

fog moves through
the burned out house:
gently

— Jack Cain

Since settling to earth
the high spirit of that kite
has gone completely

— Kubouta

quietly
we become
audience

— Hilary Tann

a bit of birdsong
before we start
our engines

— John Stevenson

yesterday’s paper
in the next seat-
the train picks up speed

— Gary Hotham

The feeling and sense of this wonderful haiku have stuck with me for years. Being in this moment is to be touched by all that is constantly left behind. The newspaper is a token of what was, not what is, and as such presents a potent reminder in concert with the train’s picking up speed that the moment is fleeting and quickly lost. You have a sense of being alone and looking to the empty next seat and there’s a random wonder about whether yesterday’s news is worthy of retrieving. The paper and the train’s motion together fill you with a depth of recognition that captures perfectly the heart of loneliness, of leaving and of transience, creating at once the poignancy of an instant.

From As Far as the Light Goes, LaCrosse, Wisconsin: Juniper Press, 1990

commentary published in Woodnotes #25 Summer 1995

after the garden party the garden

— Ruth Yarrow ( Wind Chimes #7, Winter 1983)

Among many haiku I read early on that awakened my interest and inspired my sense of just what a haiku is, I still rank this spare poem by Ruth Yarrow as very influential. The contrast of the garden filled with people and emptied out is at once familiar, vivid and crystal clear. To attend an event with many people and share comraderie, place, and a common memory creates a multilayered response to suddenly be in this same place later, alone. Indelibly the garden is revealed in itself without everyone else there.

We are left to determine how this now empty garden makes us feel. Are we sad the party is over? Are we glad to be free of the social obligations and noisy commotion? This freedom of determination and variety of readings helped me begin to identify critical qualities of a successful haiku. The magic and charm of this garden after its garden party is found in savoring the beauty and intricacy of each and every thing there that we are open to once the party is over. Without the distraction of others or the self performing itself we come closer to a genuine communion with the gardens of our lives.

( commentary published in Woodnotes #30 Autumn 1996)

Late autumn-
a single chair waiting
for someone yet to come

— Arima Akito

sand storm
the scorpion’s stinger
aiming at the wind

— William Cullen Jr.

so many boulders
in the stream all of the water
finding its way

— David Elliot

We are made up of mostly water and constantly it is finding its way through our life. To imagine how much water passes through us in a lifetime is to recognize how truly we are each a fleshy filter experiencing the very river of our existence.

All the water finding its way through so many boulders is a beautiful and reassuring statement about each of us finding our way through the myriad trials and tribulations of life. Each season of our lives is rife with “boulders.” At times we are frustrated, if not terrified or exhausted, by these barricades and the process of negotiating passage past them. The wisdom of time equalling change and the zen of now expresses exactly the deliverance that exists in moving…toward destiny… the way. Destiny is movement, and even when we are seemingly still in ourselves the planet continues to plow space, circling its way through the dark-light spin. People gather and empty out of a space… rooms fill with glee and then silence and wind blows on the peak top.

We are always in motion, as is the essential nature of water. Our form is perpetually the miracle dance that is emptiness defining itself. This simple, brilliant haiku says it all so well… and on the way too.

( published in Brussels Sprout, vol. X:2, 1993 )

low over the railroad
wild geese flying-
a moonlit night

— Shiki

in the shadow of the cherry blossom
complete strangers
there are none…

— Issa

the first dream of the year-
I kept it a secret
and smiled to myself

— Sho-u

father and son
hunching along together-
the snow banked road

— H.F. Noyes

snowy night
sometimes you can’t be
quiet enough

— John Stevenson

Drifting round a bend
– the sliding turtles plash
tells a downstream deer

— Robert Spiess

This haiku by Robert Spiess irresistably draws us into the concentric connections that make the haiku way the perfection that is nature. The motion of the canoe ( or water) drifting is like each of us rounding each moment in our lives. Daily by chance or design we encounter myriad meanings in our experiences. Our momentum forward is inextricably linked to everything we come in contact with. We effect and we are affected. This is the setting up a chain of gently reacting images. We, the canoe, cause a turtle to slide, whose sound, so subtle is the reduced plash, in turn causes a deer to perk its ear, which in turn comes back to us as the images expand and complete a circuit at once. The resonance operates simply yet profoundly in infinite fashion throughout our lives. Our part in the cycle of sense awareness from surface to depth and back again seems to be at the core of haiku fascination. The way in which one entity touches another, then another, reverberating in each the other is the precious faith and brilliance of haiku.

( published in Brussels Sprout v. VI, Issue 3, 1989 )

car piled with luggage
straying into the funeral
procession

— Yvonne Hardenbrook

One of the tests of a poem’s strength is how well it holds up over repeated readings. A favorite of mine that continues to intrigue me is this odd and humoristic image that Yvonne captures so aptly. A car loaded down with one’s worldly belongings is an obvious sight. The person/ people moving are in contradictory states of being. Burdened by belongings can create a vulnerable awkwardness that in part is offset by some comfort that comes from having so much of one’s life close at hand.

That this potent load is juxtaposed with a funeral is a priceless peek at mystery itself. A funeral procession often creates a striking image that amidst regular life seems out of place and deserving of notice. To combine someone moving with this procession is to suggest that in death we make our biggest move. The only possession we take along is the procession of family and friends as they make their way to pay respects.

This poem elicits a constant tip of the hat to what’s mysterious in life moving with death. It also alludes to the universal truth that our last move, in death, is always without any luggage.

( published in Brussels Sprout, v. XI: 1, 1994 )

empty tracks
a stranger and I
looking in the same direction

— Yu Chang

music two centuries old-
the color flows
out of the teabag

— Gary Hotham

This beautiful haiku brings out asubliminal sense of interpenetration where things are most realized when they are in concert with a medium. Music exists in many forms yet is most vital when performed, played and appreciated by listeners. The musical notes on a page are truly music only when combined with each other and the synthesis of instruments, practice, direction, technology and an audience. Similarly tea in a teabag becomes tea ultimately only when it enters the water in a teacup. The magic of this poem is this correspondance, where two disparate events are shown to share an essence of the same fundamental truth. This underlying truth suggests that everything depends upon and is in relation to other things. This association and awareness is where reading and writing haiku begins.

( published in Brussels Sprout, v.XII: 2 , 1995 )

far at sea
a tiny bird
rests on flotsam

— Margaret Molarsky

open to the sky
the upper window
of the abandoned barn

— Bruce Ross

End of autumn-
I leave the gate to the garden
ajar

— Alexis Rotella

To hear it,
not to hear myself
waterfall

— vincent tripi

up late-
the furnace comes on
by itself

— Gary Hotham

he removes his glove
to point out
Orion

— Raymond Roseliep

Sunflower
its head now too heavy
to meet the sun

— Karma Tenzing Wangchuk

watching the sun disappear
then standing, to watch it
disappear again

— Hilary Tann

autumn twilight:
the wreath on the door
lifts in the wind

— Nick Virgilio

in the bucket
bait fish
schooling

— Lea Lifshitz

rolling a cigarette
the canoe drifts
just where I want to go

— Michael Ketchek

my hand moves out
touches the sun
on a log

— John Wills

After I step
through the moonbeam-
I do it again

— George Swede

up from the sea wall
a plume of spray
filled with dusk light

— Geraldine C. Little

warm rain before dawn:
my milk flows into her
unseen

— Ruth Yarrow

leaving us
to find our own light
last of the sun

— Marian Olson

on a mountain trail
alone-
but never alone

— Margaret Molarsky

alone…
a downdraft
stirs the ashes

— R.A. Stefanac

lonely night
the faces painted on the windows
of a toy bus

— Cor van den Heuvel

Summer night:
we turn out all the lights
to hear the rain

— Peggy Willis Lyles

phone call
from a faraway friend
the cat starts purring

— Penny Harter

warm kitchen
the rise and fall
of friend’s laughter

— Barry George

beneath the stars
hand in hand
with my son

— Michael Ketchek

an ocean away-
I try to draw her closer
with pad and pencil

— Karma Tenzing Wangchuk

Nightfall-
the rose lets go
its red

— Alexis Rotella

hand to hand-
the unframed photos
of her life

— Gary Hotham

beach walk
the stick I tossed
yesterday

— Tom Painting

freight train
moving all
the caterpillar’s hair

— vincent tripi

station by moonlight-
one traveler gets out
and one gets on

— Cor Langedij

May morning
the door opens
before I knock

— John Stevenson

the geese have gone-
in the chilly twilight
empty milkweed pods

— Cor van den Heuvel

Now and again
a birdsong gives rest
to the monk’s silence

— vincent tripi

Not a ginkgo on the block
yet this leaf
on my front step

— Alexis Rotella

falling on a face
in the small seaport window-
evening sunlight

— Gunther Klinge

The resthome van–
toothless old faces smile
as a firetruck races past

— David LeCount

waves crash
against the pier – the bottle
slips from my hand

— Michael Ketchek

hot night
turning the pillow
to the cool side

— Cor van den Heuvel

The waves now fall short
of the stranded jelly fish…
In it shines the sky

— O. Mabson Southard

snow patches
thicket along the stream
snags the fog

— Ruth Yarrow

fountain spray
and the blindman’s upturned face
finding each other

— H.F. Noyes

no longer dripping
the icicle holds
the sunset

— Ruth Yarrow

freshly fallen snow-
opening a new package
of typing paper

— Nick Avis

lulling me to sleep
the rain
then waking me

— Michael Dudley

the frustrated fly
drops to the window sill
and throws a buzzing fit

— James Hackett

If I go alone,
I’ll lie in the wildflowers
and dream of you

— Rod Willmot

Summer night:
in my eyes starlight
hundreds of years old

— George Swede

That breeze brought it-
a moment of moonlight
to the hidden fern.

— Foster Jewell

fireworks
I close my eyes
for a second look

— John Stevenson

birdsong
through open windows
he lifts the veil

— Peggy W. Lyles

distant glimmer
of a beach fire-
autumn moonrise

— Marje Dyck

two crabs
grappling with locked claws
taken by a wave

— Robert Zukowski

long sermon-
in the roof beams
cobwebs flutter

— Dean Summers

leaves budding
a little girl
spinning in her dress

— John Stevenson

Dusk over the lake
a turtle’s head emerges
then silently sinks

— Virgil Hutton

lily:
out of the water…
out of itself

— Nick Virgilio

in this warm spring rain
tiny leaves are sprouting
from the eggplant seed

— Basho

west- bound train
the winter sunset
lasts awhile

— Donna Claire Gallagher

November evening-
the wind from a passing truck
ripples a roadside puddle

— Cor van den Heuvel

geese overhead
the dog stops licking
to listen

— Joann Klontz

The hills
release the summer clouds
one…by one…by one

— John Wills

birthcry!
the stars
are all in place

— Raymond Roseliep

Shooting the rapids!
– a glimpse of a meadow
gold with buttercups

— Robert Spiess

shooting the rapids-
even the back of his head
looks surprised

— H.F. Noyes

low tide-
stones that have dried
among those that haven’t

— John Stevenson

sitting
where I sat as a child
I wait out the storm

— Hilary Tann

not seeing
the room is white
until that red apple

— Anita Virgil

I am one
who eats his breakfast
gazing at the morning glories

— Basho

breakfasting
with the morning glories-
painted on my cup

— H.F. Noyes

On the gray church wall,
the shadow of a candle
… shadow of its smoke

— L.A. Davidson

Morning:
catching that tail-end
of a dream

— Michael McClintock

late afternoon:
cattle lie
in the billboard shade

— Randy Brooks

The fog has settled
around us. A faint redness
where the maple was.

— Claire Pratt

twisting inland,
the sea fog takes awhile
in the apple trees

— Michael McClintock

I look up
from writing
to daylight.

— William Higginson

evening star
almost within
the moon’s half-curve

— William Higginson

the evening star
just above the snow the tip
of an alder bush

— Nick Avis

Winter moon;
a beaver lodge in the marsh,
mounded with snow

— Robert Spiess

i catch
the maple leaf then let
it go

— John Wills

after Beethoven
he gets the furnace
roaring

— Raymond Roseliep

feeling foolish love
for the water in the stream
just passing by

— H.F. Noyes

overtaken
by a single cloud,
and letting it pass

— Michael McClintock

summer sunrise
a man on a ladder
changing the price of gas

— John Stevenson

the hidden path
through the woods
plain with snow

— Jim Kacian

I read
she reads
winter evening

— Lee Gurga

I sink a little bridge
to the aquarium floor-
first day of summer

— Emiko Miyashita

Winter morning-
the sound of a board
hitting the pile

— Barry George

old garden shed
the insecticide can
full of spiders

— Ernest Berry

still ahead of us
the storm
we’ve been driving toward

— John Stevenson

legs pawing
the summer wind-monarch
in the wiper blade

— Lee Gurga

Hiking by full moon-
the rockslide a spill of light
down the mountain

— David Elliott

The fire-fly
gives light
to its pursuer

— Oemaru

quietly
the fireworks
far away

— Gary Hotham

After gazing at stars…
now, I adjust to the rocks
under my sleeping bag

— Tom Tico

The distant mountains
are reflected in the eye
of the dragonfly

— Issa

hiking
into the clouds
the view within

— Garry Gay

migrating birds-
the weight
of my first voters’ guide

— Fay Aoyagi

crab
washed ashore
each feeler intact

— Francine Porad

First Christmas-
my daughter plays
with a cardboard box

— Kathy Cobb

lighting the woodstove
he kneels absorbed
in last year’s newspaper

— Dee Evetts

snow now rain
your picture
by mine

— Gary Hotham

picking the last pears
yellow windows hang
in the dusk

— Ruth Yarrow

old Indian trail
we too,
pause for the view

— Margaret Molarsky

rainswept parking lot
headlights of a locked car
grow dim

— Charles Dickson

everytime
the bushes dip the bees
change places

— John Wills

family album-
the black and white
of my youth

— Jim Kacian

morning twilight…
horse asleep in the pasture
covered with frost

— Lee Gurga

november evening
the faintest tick of snow
upon the cornstalks

— John Wills

change of kimono:
showing only her back
to the blossom’s fragrance

— Chiyo-ni

glancing back
the woman I passed
grows lovelier

— Jeffrey Winke

spring twilight…
the hanging fern
turns

— Anita Virgil

over and over
on the railway embankment
the same scrawny tree

— Doris Heitmeyer

end of the line
the conductor starts turning
the seats around

— Cor van den Heuvel

in one room
everything she has
and a window

— Lea Lifshitz

rainstorm on the pond;
beaver pushing a poplar limb
to plug the dam

— Charles Dickson

the swan’s head
turns away from sunset
to his dark side

— Anita Virgil

The Beloved-
how simple
the bear sniffs the air

— vincent tripi

A cloud of bugs
busy going nowhere
in a ray of sun

— James Hackett

casting stones
in a quiet pool
for company

— Jim Normington

deepening autumn-
soundless drift of leaves
against the boathouse

— H.F. Noyes

sixteenth autumn since
barely visible grease marks
where he parked his car

— Nick Virgilio

the evening paper
on the darkening lawn
first star

— Cor van den Heuvel

figure drawing class-
in the models deepest shadows
a stark white string

— Lee Gurga

A long wedge of geese
straw gold needles of the larch
on the flowing stream

— Robert Spiess

slowly too
grass where we loved
realigning

— vincent tripi

Slow mountain descent
the turbulent river gentles
into a lake

— Jean Jorgensen

the geese fly off…
and it comes to me
that I am still here

— H.F. Noyes

walking the snow-crust
not sinking
sinking

— Anita Virgil

Two flies, so small
it’s a wonder they ever met,
are mating on this rose

— James Hackett

calm evening
alone on the porch I rouse
the windchimes

— Yvonne Hardenbrook

bursting free
from a box-shaped pruning
forsythia branches

— Francine Porad

up late with old friends…
my daughter and her blankie
out of the dark

— Randy Brooks

reading a mystery
a cool breeze comes through
the beach roses

— Cor van den Heuvel

Compassion-
the taste of the pear
bruised by other pears

— vincent tripi

dispute at second base
the catcher lets some dirt
run through his fingers

— Cor van den Heuvel

field of wild iris-
the pinto pony
kicks up his heels

— Elizabeth Searle Lamb

schools out-
a boy follows his dog
into the woods

— Randy Brooks

a dusting of snow
tire tracks grow visible
in the road’s soft edge

— Dee Evetts

in the pack rat’s nest
bits of an old calendar,
a tarnished spoon

— Elizabeth S. Lamb

autumn twilight-
in the closed barbershop
the mirrors darken

— Cor van den Heuvel

a deep gorge…
some of the silence
is me

— John Stevenson

long meeting
I study the pattern
embossed on the napkin

— Miriam Borne

why does the mandarin duck
float alone-
first winter rain

— Chiyo-ni

a warm gust…
back through the gate it comes
the whole pile of leaves

— Christopher Herold

all those haiku
about the moon in the trees
the moon in the trees

— John Stevenson

my high wire act
for you
and this moon

— Fay Aoyagi

fog…
just the tree and I
at the bus stop

— Jerry Kilbride

winter beach
a piece of driftwood
charred at one end

— John Stevenson

nudged by her boot tip
to the sidewalk’s edge
a dead sparrow

— Pamela Miller Ness

between cities
on the interstate
so many stars

— Karen Sohne

darkening road
wind parts the fur
of the dead cat

— Dee Evetts

two lines in the water…
not a word between
father and son

— Randy Brooks

heat lightning
the cow’s udder
shivers

— John Stevenson

cloud shadow
long enough to close
the poppies

— Christopher Herold

monastery cell-
a blue window opens
to sea and sky

— Karma Tenzing Wangchuk

Aging willow leafs out
its image unsteady
in the flowing stream

— Robert Spiess

fluttering madly-
butterfly in the slipstream
of a passing freight

— Lee Gurga

Takeoff:
in the runway crack
a single weed

— Ross Kremer

letting go
leaves pass leaves
holding on

— Robert Henry Poulin

a bike in the grass
one wheel slowly turning-
summer afternoon

— Lee Gurga

after all these years
ankle deep
in the other ocean

— Pamela Miller Ness

wind in the pampas grass
the rowboat strains
against its mooring

— Ce Rosenow

dragonflies mating-
the outboard motor
coughs into life

— Charlie Trumbull

the farther into it,
the farther it moves away-
spring mist

— Wally Swist

rows of corn
stretch to the horizon-
sun on the thunderhead

— Lee Gurga

night journey-
entering town
I lose the stars

— Hilary Tann

Milky Way-
carefully she spreads
the quilt

— Yu Chang

new snow
the arc
the door makes

— John Stevenson

candlelight dinner-
his finger slowly circles
the rim of his glass

— Lee Gurga

one broken pane
remaining in the shed
full moon

— Wally Swist

at rest
on the hospice wall
a mayfly

— Charlie Trumbull

beads of water
on the manzanita leaf
none touch

— Karma Tenzing Wangchuk

winter sun
a stranger makes room
without looking

— John Stevenson

blinding snow
there is no need
to understand everything

— Yu Chang

January thaw
easing the log
into the current

— Hilary Tann

for my birthday
another trip
around the sun

— Jim Kacian

each hole in turn…
a wasp checks out
where the bolts pulled loose

— Charlie Trumbull

exploring the cave…
my son’s flashlight beam
disappears ahead

— Lee Gurga

in the dark she whispers to me
“the deer have eaten
my tulips”

— Ronald Baatz

steady summer rain…
an old swayback farmhouse
by the road

— Bruce Ross

missing you-
windows rattle
with the wind

— Ce Rosenow

deep twilight-
the abandoned horse pasture
thick with buttercups

— Wally Swist

a squirrel leaping
from a tree in the rain
loves the soft earth of april

— Ronald Baatz

last bale of hay-
we sit down on it
and watch the moon

— Lee Gurga

curling tighter
a leaf
ctaches fire

— John Stevenson

a stone
i saved
casting stones

— Stanford M. Forrester

autumn morning-
repainting our bedroom
the color it was

— Mike Spikes

hot afternoon
the squeak of my hands
on my daughter’s coffin

— Leonard Moore

River stones
worn smooth
I have no regrets

— Garry Gay

autumn wind
the leaves are going
where I’m going

— John Stevenson

going out the door
i pass a grape that had
rolled away from breakfast

— Ronald Baatz

dawn mists rise…
the river bottom covered
with mud-ckaed stones

— Wally Swist

from one end
of the plane to the other
winter fly

— Charlie Trumbull

I finish my tea
the cup still full
of warmth

— Philomene Kocher

starry night-
biting into a melon
full of seeds

— Yu Chang

as if
it had split the boulder
pine seedling

— paul m.

Cabin fever-
spinning the child’s globe
until it blurs blue

— Carol Purington

first frost
a homeless man appears
in the new development

— Yu Chang

old railway bed
the ties
remain

— Hilary Tann

mountain moonrise
the sound I didn’t know
I had in me

— Peter Yovu

cycling with my son-
this is the autumn
I fall behind

— Curtis Dunlap

longing for something-
an unknown seabird
soars out of sight

— Ce Rosenow

milky way-
even the know-it-all
speechless

— Hank Dunlap

autumn downpour
a tow truck pulling
another

— Carlos Colon

pull of the moon
I am not myself
tonight

— Yu Chang

the broken harp string
curving
into sunlight

— Elizabeth Searle Lamb

Selected Haibun by Tom Clausen

15 Sunday Dec 2013

Posted by in Tom selected favorites

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                                   Going to Grandma’s
                   When we were young my mother would pack our old ’52 Plymouth in the chill of morning for our journey from Ithaca to East Berkshire, Vermont, to see Grandma. The trip was always a long, full day of driving with wonderful sights yet  much squirmy energy to contain. Year after year we made this trip so that images along the way became indelibly etched in my memory.
                                      out to pasture
                                      a Ford Fairlane
                                      with it’s hood up
              The road rising and falling, stretching straight at times, and always moving ahead built up a whole set of anticipations and images to look for. I would keenly watch for picture perfect farms, cows in their pastures, majestic willows following a stream, dream houses with lovely porches, horizons near and far, bridges big and small. Roadkills, particularly skunks, as well as railroad crossings with their twin bumps, would always heighten the passage. It was fascinating to glimpse abandoned houses, burned down barns, junkyards, factories, cemeteries, billboards, freight cars next to warehouses and to pass through little towns with their five and dime hearts gave me plenty to fuel my childhood imagination. The road, even in stretches of emptiness, would captivate my curiosity and pique my early sense of space all flowing together.
                               freight train going our way…
                               silently saying the names
                               on the box car walls
                     Despite the external flowing landscape the most passionate activity on these trips was the inevitable teasing and squabbles that broke out between my sister, Heidi and me. Since she was two years younger it was hard to reconcile her being both bigger and stronger! The back seat was a universe unto us, and the typical trip would at some point develop the drawing of a battle line. Although the line was imaginary, it was nonetheless important in formalizing our taunts and tussels. It created a boundary of tension and a chance to tempt fate. We were a brother and sister occupying a small space and had over 325 miles to engage in combat.
                                     the little hairs
                                     on my sisters arms;
                                     how similar to mine
                   The verbal bickering usually escalated to fake nonchalant hand placements over the line, reprisals, poundings on shoulders and arms, glares of defiance, allegations of blame, sneers, and appeals to the front seat for justice. Violations of decency required a referee. After a few shrill exchanges, a few appeals, the car would stop. Our mother, no longer able to tolerate us would pull over and order me to get out and run… yes, run, and run along the side of the road far enough to be tired enough hopefully to get back in the car tired out and able to sit peacefully still and quiet for awhile.
                                     our new used car
                                     several old cigarette butts
                                     in the ash tray
                  One of these times on a stretch of road in a remote area as I ran along I noticed the Plymouth getting smaller and smaller until I got completely out of sight. The forest on either side of the road invited glances and the powerful thought that I could just veer off and disappear in those deep woods forever. Wouldn’t she be sorry, I smugly imagined, but just enough of that early childhood self-survival instinct vetoed the getting- lost -in-the-woods detour! I kept running as fast as I could, fully aware of a certain triumph that could be obtained by the sheer distance ahead I could go.
                                    a sparkplug
                                    in the roadside gravel;
                                    pocketing it
                The road began to curve and I realized that I was way out of sight and well beyond the distance that my mother usually let me get.. What a feeling: to be a kid, alone, running in a strange unexpected place; lungs, heart, arms and legs all churning and pulling onwards, ahead with some mysterious charm to the moment. Suddenly a pick-up truck came up from behind and pulled along side of me. A man at the wheel leaned over and yelled out the window: “Kid, do you want a lift?”  I hesitated, amazed, tempted, but then said, “No, I guess not, I’ll be getting a ride with someone soon.” I said this half looking back and half wishing I could see the Plymouth, but it was not in sight. A slight shiver passed through me. I could have gotten in that truck, I could have run away with help. That would have been a pivotal moment heading me into a completely different life.
                                   a long way
                                   from home               my pillow
                                                                  in the car
               As it was the Plymouth soon did reappear and leap frogged ahead of me. I ran some more, now really tired and ready to get in. I was breathing heavily and without any words didn’t even give my sister a look. For quite some time I sat peacefully and quietly, looking out the window, full of private thoughts and considerations of my young little life. The run had done just what my mother had wanted. I was able to sit awhile very nicely. It would take dozens of years for me to realize that it is moments like these that help keep a family together, What I felt that day, long ago, was in a brilliant little bundle of moments what being young is all about.
                              mother driving…
                              the passing tractor trailer
                              buffets our car
                             In the Woods
In 1962 when I was eleven I fancied myself to be a Last of the Mohican, Huckleberry Finn, outback wilderness child, and had chosen the name “Wonapsa” to inspire and fulfill the fantasies I played out in the woods and gorges behind our house. The woods contained the world I loved, both real and imaginary. I would spy on rabbits, chipmunks, and woodpeckers. Sometimes I would sit as still as I could to see what being a ghost was all about. I laid on the ground, smelling the dirt and embracing a patch of earth just my size. I would climb trees listening to the wind sigh in the boughs and learn the creak that comes from deep in trees. The woods were filled with secrets I wanted to know.
                                          sun after rain-
                                          the garter snake fresh
                                          from its skin
In the spring it was momentous to find mayapples and hepaticas and know new life arises from the litter and wreckage of winters’ leaving. One day while scampering up and down steep slopes in random search for tiny skulls, feathers, fossils or a special perch to sit awhile, I peeked over a ridge top to see a man and a woman lying out on a ledge a way below me. What they were doing I had roughly heard about but never seen. The trees between me and them were few but a bit of guilt kept me from a steady stare. I became aware of the unlikliness of what I was witnessing and felt an exhileration of discovery. To see their flesh while they kept some clothes on filled me with curiosity. I do not remember a distinct conclusion, my memory choosing to focus on the unison of their movements.
That night my heart and mind recreated it all over and over. What images I had seen. How purely animal and natural they were. How unexpected and free a view I had.
Years go by and that ledge is still there. My walks in the woods these days sometimes pass that place. I always look a little and remember. I’ve never seen anyone else there.
                                               barren woods-
                                               a clump of wild onion
                                               scents the air
( published in Wedge of Light, 1999, Press Here, Foster City, California)
                                     Graduation 
The iffy weather holds and the whole ceremony occurs magnificently without rain. Extended families in their finest. Toddlers swagger about the edge of the overflow seating. The speeches are both grand and generic, and appropriately inventory many inspired concepts to send this group into the next life. Balloons are released, cameras are reloaded, video runs, and cheers of jubilation arise here and there from the mass as subsets of the group are specified. Just as the processional marched in it is not long before everyone slowly files out. Six thousand students, thirty thousand relatives, friends, ushers, speakers, dignitaries, professors, staff, emergency personnel, and myself caught up in this sea of spectacle. I work near here and pass this site nearly every day. This is the one hundred twenty-eighth graduation to be held at this place.
                            in the rain
                            outside the empty stadium
                            a penny
                                                 New Life
It begins at the beginning; baby things, a cradle, diapers, wipes, sleepers, onesies, rattles, cuddly bears and before you know it there is a high chair, crayons, markers, glitter, legos, duplos, playmobile, comics, books, socks, mittens, hats and how quickly things are outgrown.
When you don’t pay enough attention to young ones things happen to insure you do pay enough attention. Days become a mess here, a spill there and soon it becomes a plunder all around until finally after countless episodes of distress , a whole day of monitoring, pick-up and attention is done. Readiness for the next day cavalcade must be made. Zombie-like puzzling over how draining and challenging parenthood is, I remark to my wife how exhausting it is to be at home with the children. She says the secret is to keep things moving and to get out of the house.
                                              frantic
                                              she tells me she never loses
                                              her keys
                                   In the Middle
You can sit on a lawn or in a field, or forest or by a stream; almost anyplace and just sit there sensing whatever. The longer you sit the better for settling out the business of the mind and becoming open to the myriad senses of sound, sight, smell and the way all manner of life is right there to discover…
                                     page by page
                                     she knows on each one
                                     where Waldo is
                                       New Sneakers
When our  5 and 1/2 year old son, Casey, began a campaign for new sneakers it awakened in me the memories of my own childhood love affair with the nearly annual new pair. For a child there is an extr-sensory exhileration that comes from having one’s feet laced into a springy new pair of sneakers.
Casey had been pleading for weeks for a new pair of Nikes. At first I was mildly disturbed that he was brand and style conscious at only 5. After all, my childhood sneakers had been plain canvas skippy’s bought at Five-and-Dime stores, and had been absolutely captivating to me. Furthermore, as an adult I’ve never warmed up to the large, clumpy, light-up-glaring barges that so many kids adore today. Oh well, my doubts were soon replaced by vicarious enjoyment of his pleasure with his new Nikes. He had me hold them, inspect their tread and note every feature of their design.
Watching Casey run, jump, skip and thoroughly exalt about in his new sneakers made it perfectly clear he was proud, enthused and inspired by the collaboration of his dream come true in the form of two pieces of rubber life attached to his feet. I was instructed to look closely at the first grass stains and the first mud in the tread. In general much focus that first day was placed firmly on his embellished feet! I knew they would get old like many prized toys past their peak of charm, yet I’ll never forget that night when still brand new these sneakers were the magic of a young heart and mind.
                                               five year old snuggles
                                                   his new sneakers
                                                          in bed
                                                     Fruittree
Our son has named him Fruittree although Luna was the name we gave him when we brought him home from the SPCA. Fruittree quickly established himself as a destructive presence, clawing furniture, shredding curtains, getting up on our mantle, different dressers and knocking off breakable things. He demands attention with an effective caterwaul that he keeps up until he gets his way, which is usually to get out or be let back in. Besides the caterwaul when he wants”in” he resorts to leaping up onto window or door screens and hanging on issueing loud meows until he is let in. All the screens are in poor shape as a result of his heftiness. Fruittree sheds his white fur ferociously everywhere. He’s been known to grab bites out of food on the table if not watched closely and he views our garden as his personal over-sized kitty litter. Our fish aquarium he treats as his ready made fish soup for lapping at any time of day.
                                            fallen asleep
                                            beneath the feeder
                                            our deaf cat
                                                 Sustained Time
         In my ten years of married life the lack of time to be totally alone has been a chronic issue of discontent in me. When my wife and children boarded the Lake Shore Limited in Syracuse heading out to California for a month visit with the kids grandparents I felt genuine anxiety. It was to be my second significant time alone in ten years.
         My first day on my own I became aware of unrealistic expectations I had placed on this time. I had envisioned this being alone for so long as a fantasy that the reality was bound to suffer some in comparison. Always my fantasy was that when alone I could and would write more and better poems, I’d read abundantly, attend movies, plays, go out to hear music, get together with friends and generally feel happier, free, relaxed, inspired, productive, decisive and more like my old self; eclectic and bohemian. I always imagined confidently that once alone I’d be able to accomplish all the myriad things I fail to accomplish when surrounded by the needs and demands of family life.
                                        sleeping in…
                                        that big white cloud
                                        out the window

Dim Sum poems by Tom Clausen

15 Sunday Dec 2013

Posted by in Dim Sum

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2001:1 ( first issue- guest poet)
*
after she’s asleep
moving most of her dolls
      away…
*
tears
from the cold-
Christmas lights
*
snow patches
throughout the woods
pine scent
*
as I approach
his work station
the mouse clicks
*
most of the rain
    not falling
      on me
*
in the empty room
father and son:
two quiet types
*
2003:1
*
valley fog:
out of it
geese in formation
*
bright autumn day
the bus driver yells at me
PAY ATTENTION!
*
our turn
to stand here-
falls overlook
*
a key in the pocket
   the coat
     no longer fits
*
warehouse district-
a late afternoon cloud
spreads
*
long grocery line
the modest excitement
of my thoughts
*
late night bus-
a light on
in the fare box
*
jogging
just past the church
I clean my glasses
*
late afternoon sun
noisy blackbirds swarm
the transformer
*
a few floors down
in another building
someone else looks out
*
my son sniffs
the football-
“is it really pigskin?”
*
the crowd presses
to look in-
zen garden
*
extended goodbye
their paved driveway
buckled by roots
–
– for Karen Montner-Silverman
*
full moon
a coffee can of pennies
holds the door open
*
mower won’t start
  busy as a bee
      a bee
*
Christmas eve
in her pajamas all day
the youngest one
*
from room to room
on the Clue Board
a tiny spider
*
as the spider goes
down the drain
a second thought
*
2003:2
*
spring wind-
the kid in the neighborhood
has a new whistle
*
March rain-
within the red wine
a nap in my chair
*
always takes his time
the custodian watches
      the floor dry
*
abandoned lot-
chocolate milk carton
bleached white
*
     alone
in the middle of a crowd
   someone I knew
*
we know by the degree
he teases his sister-
all better now
*
the load tied down-
her painted toe nails
on the dashboard
*
just arrived-
their dog sniffs
our tires
*
class in the forest
they all look up
to the trees
*
reading into it
as much as I can
             my life
*
improving
my handwriting
the high quality paper
*
in the middle
of some construction
a lilac blooms
*
railroad crossing
an old man
waves at the train
*
Discovery channel-
an older male vanquished
heads for the hills
*
straight out
   of a dream
       another day
*
steady rain
a pickle
in the parking lot
*
the dates
    on the coins
        I give up…
*
zoo safari trail…
ant caravans travel
the railing
*
2004:1
*
standing here just watching
the spring sun sparkle
on the water
and what is it they say about
living life to the fullest
*
cell phones
they find each other
in the mall
*
between bites
from the apples
    his stare….
*
the finished letter
in the envelope…
taken out again
*
Veteran’s Day
the normal route
past the cemetery
*
picture window
in all that white
a cardinal
*
flea market-
a Rubik’s cube
already solved
*
where I sit
on my usual bench
remains of a nut
*
a little tree-
not enough shade
to sit in
*
lingering in bed
the ceiling
has no answers
*
framed photo-
the three of us
close back then
*
under my breath
    “oh boy”
sitting down for lunch
*
an old oak
on a hairpin turn
dark scarlet
*
autumn colors-
how assertive
she becomes
*
I choose one-
a roomful of chairs
without people
*
snowfall
my daughter asks where
we are going…
*
soft spoken-
on her windowsill
more snow
*
first snow gone-
this steady need
to practice
*
alone with the cat
the look between us
held awhile…
*
potluck luncheon-
a yellow jacket cleans
its antennae
*
2004:2
*
long conversation…
through different windows
the sky
*
having brushed off
several small ants
an extra large one…
*
loud storm
I think of
our roofer
*
spring sun
good enough
right where I am
*
mid day
my son’s bear hug
still with me
*
for lunch
looking for an empty room
room after room
*
our daughter tells us:
let the listing goldfish
live as long as it can
*
taking me back…
water laps gently
at the shore
*
old farm house-
the pitch of the
patterned linoleum
*
our child
who will not go to sleep-
sheep on her pajamas
*
my wife removes
the parakeet’s mirror
for awhile…
*
left and right
he follows the way
of his kicked stone
*
without any music
I catch myself
tapping in time
*
spring in the air
so many false starts
in my heart
*
to start the day
her slipper sounds
too fast
*
on hold…
branches in the window
wave wildly
*
empty classroom
windows open
to summer
*
2005:1
*
sweet corn on the cob
thinking of my old
typewriter
*
gray morning-
a workman with a fancy watch
mixes mortar
*
one short chapter-
I move the lawn chair
to reclaim some sun
*
just oatmeal
the waitress says
   “enjoy”
*
before I pick up the nickel
a rain drop
on Jefferson’s head
*
her tossed jacket
another place
for the cat
*
my arm snagged-
a good look at
the wild rose
*
fall colors
in the lake-
one thought after another
*
pawn shop
guitars and guns
lined up
*
bike ride
as fast as I go
the moon on the water
*
crows jabber
at daybreak-
if that were all
*
cross country skiing…
twenty-two falls
her big brother’s count
*
snow falling
I read myself
to sleep
*
meditation…
i remember I left
the lights on
*
my wife asks
if she should feel sorry for me
“I’ve got it covered”
*
her voice-
flake by flake collects
 on a twig
*
big test day
she scrambles an extra egg
for his breakfast
*
outside
in the dark
I let my imagination go
*
dying light
at the corner of the shed
chickens peck away
*
2005:2
*
hunting four leaf clovers
students discuss
their childhoods
*
in the car singing
until I’m passed
and seen…
*
my mistakes-
no matter how many
coats of paint
*
spring air-
bumping into someone
I thought was dead
*
spring rain-
the cat in the window
washes its face
*
spring sun-
making a list
of what makes me happy
*
illuminated clouds-
a store for sale
way out here
*
brilliant spring
the ambulance passes
quietly
*
Valentine’s Day-
I forget to get
the garbage out
*
last sandwich
from the loaf
the two ends
*
relatives set to visit
so many cobwebs
to remove
*
resting in the shade
an elderly man sits
on a gravestone
*
the river
full of ice
broken free…
*
happiness…
a child I don’t know
waving at me
*
exam week
she lies face up
in the rain
*
a dime on the walk
a stranger
beats me to it
*
our two loudest
on vacation
in the same week
*
spring twilight
a young couple play badminton
without a net
*
sun pops out
a construction worker
breaks into song
*
2006:1
*
day’s end
rinsing the fish
in tap water
*
so many years
to remember…
I sit up straight
*
she turns down
my favorite music…
plays recorder for me
*
daybreak-
the spider centered
in its web
*
in my room
just thinking…
do not disturb
*
doubting myself…
but he looked too good
to need a quarter
*
night train-
part of myself reflected
in thought
*
looking busy
as my wife
pulls in
*
on the windowsill
her first tooth
without the tooth fairy
*
in a hollow
at the base of the trunk
a seedling
*
quiet part…
out loud a little one asks
“when will it end?”
*
first game
doing her best
to avoid the ball
*
a crow
circling like a hawk
but it is a crow
*
in the dumpster
potted plants
take the rain
*
2006:2
*
stand of tall trees-
not sure what
I’m turning into
*
dinner time-
each night
a fallen hero
*
Father Leo
two seats down the pew
doing a puzzle
*
winter wind
the voice of one tree
after another
*
walking alone…
a submerged log
comes to light
*
lined
with plump rain drops
the clothesline
*
sitting alone…
her second time through
the newspaper
*
the mourning dove
lowers itself
to take off…
*
blue sky-
nothing constructive
to offer
*
moments into
my music
the vacuum cleaner
*
dandelions-
I give someone
easy directions
*
behind the wheel-
yet another of his
personalities
*
last day of school-
she tells me there was nothing
more to learn
*
in the garden
right by St. Francis
the woodchuck hole
*
so many books
  I can’t find
     one
*
quickly
after the artery scan
a Danish
*
the day lilies-
some have crossed
the road
*
afternoon sun
a chef naps
at one of the tables
*
Sunday morning-
a brook sparkles
out of the hills
*
2007:1
*
strip mall-
the shimmer of leaves
on a new tree
*
muffler shop
a man managing
his cough
*
in our doorway
a man reads to me
a bible passage
*
beginning late…
    the under attended
     concert
*
morning sun
just a plain paper bag
with frost
*
evening star-
    the horizon
    of my childhood
*
walking the tracks
my thoughts
go nowhere
*
near zero-
just rabbits
and crows
*
the cashier
holds another large bill
up to the light
*
water
       from the flower vase
                   returned to the garden
*
unmarked grave-
a chicken
named Sunflower
*
mixed blessing
my best critic
at home
*
warm winter day-
our dog squints
for a scent
*
old friends talk-
each holding
car keys
*
geese
in the deep bowl of sky
salmon clouds
*
breakdown lane
        plastered
                 with political stickers
*
my wife catches me
picking from our trash
again
*
overwintering
in the hay wagon
scarecrow
*
dining room
next to my wife’s chair
her dog at attention
*
2007:2
*
construction site-
folks gathered around
the newborn
*
those were the days…
she’d meet me halfway
from work
*
flurries…
a truck piled high
with hay
*
too faint
for my son to see
a little used trail
*
light rain…
a sense of trust
along the way
*
  trying to figure
how to spend it…
  a little free time
*
priceless-
a poor night’s sleep
in the tent
*
sun comes out…
the walk home
with my shadow
*
full of dirt
a dump truck waits
for her to cross
*
summer-
seeing more
of her
*
flower garden
where she buries
the goldfish
*
pleasant forecast-
my wife announces
her plan
*
so many things
I need to do
    alone
*
wasting not
a moment
spring peepers
*
urologist’s office-
a framed photograph
of the falls
*
the place emptied…
a spring breeze
blows through
*
in the dark
seeing my flashlight batteries
dying
*
a week before he died-
new glasses
for distance
*
just in case-
weighing myself again
after the shower
*
late day sun-
at the edge of the party
everyone aglow
*
2008:1
*
rundown docks-
minnows schooling
around the trawler
*
cruise control…
unable to decide what
to think about
*
mixed in
with the instructions
her perfume
*
restlessness
in the night…
not even a senryu
*
busy bar
another case of
mistaken identity
*
full moon
he tells me
his side of the story
*
through dinner
our dog waits…
then eats his own
*
winter sky-
an empty nest
left behind
*
ninety years
each of her cocker spaniels
named “Honey”
*
rivals:
my wife has named our computer
Charlotte
*
my children
don’t want to stop
historical marker
*
turning back
in the harsh wind
a crow cawing
*
my wife tells me
I’m going to make it-
common cold
*
the hills…
each house nestled
in the dark
*
the kitten kneads
at empty space
bottle feeding
*
drive-thru bank
sun on the oil slicks
in each bay
*
in the kiddie pool
a couple of ducks
go at it
*
first night away-
we discuss
our pets
*
2008:2
*
well worn
the lowest branch
at school
*
misplaced again
the address
for my gypsy niece
*
Gettysburg-
a different motel
this time
*
my daughter growing…
closer and closer
to the mirror
*
offset from its stain
a rusted washer
on the boat’s deck
*
retirement home-
seagulls lined up
on the jetty
*
to upgrade
his iPhone
the young beggar
*
baby rabbit
not scared
enough…
*
for the day
the cat favors
a paper bag
*
thunder and lightning…
my wife gets up
to lock the door
*
behind the shed
grass growing
from a hay bale
*
biking slowly
through a shower
of cherry petals…
*
the sudoku
I’m stuck on
light and easy
*
spring morning…
so many birds
telling it!
*
my wife not well-
we follow through
the cemetery visit
*
cold wind-
a stranger looks at me
like a friend
*
before the auction-
my wife trying to catch
a chicken
*
forsythia-
in the yard again
moving stones
*
spring twilight-
to think she once played
Tinkerbell
*
mascara-
staring off
at the clouds
*
2009:1
*
of age
my son donates
to a candidate
*
by myself
at the end of the bed
a chocolate
*
looking up
as far as we got
the moon
*
just a shiver
of not being here
– the stars
*
getting the newspaper…
just enough snow
for footprints
*
county fair-
the parachutist lands
elsewhere
*
school taxes
cider and donuts
at the bank
*
almost everything
iced over-
chickadees
*
Physical Therapy…
the cat tilts its head
side to side
*
walking home…
some of the snowfall
rides on me
*
a couple
holding hands
testing the ice
*
trying to get my glove off shaking hands
*
twilight-
how casually the deer
cross the road
*
the universe
of my thoughts
contracting
*
daybreak-
the boats
at rest
*
every
one
in
line
for
basket
ball
tickets
so
tall
*
three trees
so close together
in the moonlight
*
in the same sentence
my wife mentions my role
and the wallpaper
*
goldenrods-
the bee’s
appendages
*
with his cane
waving to everyone
who passes…
*
2009:2
*
abandoned car-
the place for campfires
and many moons
*
driving real slow
the old pickup
shaky too…
*
roaring wind-
my little thoughts
for tomorrow
*
blushes of green
I follow her
into the woods
*
long lunch
getting to the heart
of the paperback
*
lamb’s ear
softening
the quarry
*
spring sun stirring in the pond
*
motel overnight-
once again I see
my whole self
*
mid-summer
he moves everything out
of the garage
*
another day
a few birds fly
across the sunset
*
snow melt
a bottle in the remnants
of a paper bag
*
moment of silence-
bubbles surface
on his beer
*
an hour
from his bath
our dog has rolled again
*
nearly empty theater…
      how close
      they sit
*
July 4th
at the stockyards
just a few sows
*
spring planting
petals scattered over
turned earth
*
the current
up under the bridge
into the ice jam
*
almost done-
my wife starts whistling
to herself
*
suddenly
a fruit fly
interested in me
*
in the tent
talking ourselves
to sleep
*
her apron on
leaving one house
for another
*
new day
bringing water
to my face
*
2010:1
*
     fog
  over the valley
shape of the inlet
*
so many things
I can’t tell my wife
her barking dog
*
so much unclear-
snow melting
from a locked bike
*
cold night
semiconscious tug-of-war
with my wife
*
the dog in me
a warm breeze rustles
through the corn rows
*
startling me
startled
pheasant
*
kicking around town ever since Vietnam
*
before or after birth
our relationship
with the stars
*
within the grain
of the table
a dragon
*
passing me by
in the stillness
a snowmobile
*
the easy chair-
out of sight
of my family
*
quiet out-
while resting I find
my pulse
*
wings open wide
                        as they enter
                                            the river
*
home
another sunset
over the hill
*
heat wave
no time
to go back
*
how slowly
   he drives
        across her lawn
*
summer night-
walking into
her perfume
*
harvest moon-
more clothes designated
for pajamas
*
the house gone
I take the steps to see
the foundation…
*
autumn wind-
the squirrel’s high wire act
over traffic
*
another Thanksgiving
the fold-out turkey
at her desk
*
2010:2
*
sitting in the sun
not even trying
to figure anything out
*
my beer:
claiming it’s best
in 1893
*
the big snake
on the road ahead
a branch
*
   all the time
ending and beginning
   the universe
*
May day-
a dandelion in a pot
at the nursery
*
kids
in a tree
I once climbed
*
on the street
a person really happy
about something
*
he stands there
a sheet
over his seedlings
*
opening my mouth
to say hello
a bug flies in
*
midnight-
the cat steps on
just one piano key
*
after the rain
a snail pulling away
from itself
*
snow melt
a fly lands
on me
*
fireflies
the cat at the door
doesn’t want to come in
*
under the fence
into the chicken yard
      a caterpillar
*
redwing blackbirds
snow in patches
between headstones
*
I carry it around
then place it back
a candy bar
*
whale watch-
those waiting to board watch
those getting off
*
twilight
  with my wife
    hydrangea blossoms
*
winter wreckage-
no card from her
this year
*
hot night-
looking to the heavens
with a Popsicle
*
outside the meeting
back and forth
the sprinkler
*
2011:1
*
coming in
under the greenhouse door
a strand of ivy
*
feeling down-
a quick visit to my parents
in the cemetery
*
yesterday’s coffee-
fruit flies hanging out
by the mirror
*
Happy Holidays-
I fasten
my seat-belt
*
more or less
trees frame where
the farmhouse was
*
staff meeting-
I identify
with the last donut
*
as if to show me
the wind pulls up
a swirl of snow
*
the way
the waterfall flows
into being frozen
*
one generation
pushing another
in a swing
*
empty nest-
he gets a single fish
in a bowl
*
autumn silence-
clippers rusted shut
in the garden
*
after the river boat… the river
*
the lumber yard
surrounded
by forest
*
another day
without any sheep
our sheep dog
*
a measure
of the night’s cold
our cat’s affection
*
old photo…
the detective
in me
*
hints of a headache-
leaves blowing around
the tree
*
our quiet-
flowing over and under
the ice
*
Mother’s Day-
a mix of sun
wind and rain
*
from the ball game
the camera zooms
to the moon
*
cold hands-
the moon
half full
*
gates
to the cemetery
in shambles
*
summer night-
walking into
her perfume
*
2011:2
*
between poems
the wind
in the microphone
*
another day
I don’t look
in the mirror
*
dawn-
turning off
the night light
*
takes off
in the wind
his hand blown kiss
*
on the surface
   riding downstream
     some of the twilight
*
here I am
in the same place again
trillium
*
the opening
just right
Orion’s belt
*
scattered
with feathers
red berries
*
old snow
I keep my quiet
around her
*
attic cleanup…
placing some stones
back outside
*
rainy night-
climbing Everest
in the easy chair
*
more snow-
a man on the bus
with a braille laptop
*
a Happy Camper pulls up next to us
*
at the dentist
renovation work
next door
*
thunder and lightning-
one of the dogs becomes
part of me
*
near zero night
my breath
comes and goes
*
on his way
to the interview
picking lint
*
late autumn-
leaves in a pile
cling together
*
second foul shot…
just the sound
of pompoms
*

Selected Senryu by Tom Clausen

15 Sunday Dec 2013

Posted by in Tom selected favorites

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New Year’s eve …
I enter into
the Twilight Zone
*
*
*
the universe
of my thoughts
contracting
*
*
*
most of his studying
looking
out the window
*
*
*
knotty pine cabinet
above the toilet
two knots look back
*
*
*
before bed
my son’s music louder
than mine
*
*
*
in her sleep
she steals back
her hand
*
*
*
on the wall
Jesus on the cross
above her side of the bed
*
*
*
breeding pairs
at the zoo-
with strollers
*
*
*
to start the day
her slipper sounds
too fast
*
*
*
police car-
my thoughts of what I’ve done
wrong
*
*
*
as they control
their dogs
meeting…
*
*
*
after the pleasant part
of our walk
we hurry
*
*
*
dinner over-
he addresses
some crumbs
*
*
*
meeting her boyfriend
our handshake
out of synch
*
*
*
sneaking M & M’s…
the crunching
in my ears
*
*
*
after the party
undressing
myself
*
*
*
morning zazen:
marriage counseling
ourselves
*
*
*
wanting my old life
when I wanted
my present life
*
*
*
lunch alone
without a book
I read my mind
*
*
*
child’s play
so close
to screaming

Selected Tanka by Tom Clausen

15 Sunday Dec 2013

Posted by in Tom selected favorites

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each day a cycle
home to work, work to home
a quiet faith in things,
as real as unreal this way
of being here all these seasons
 *
*
*
so many things
to have opinions on
yet as I drive along
I don’t arrive
at any of them
 *
*
*
standing here just watching
the spring sun sparkle
on the water…
what is it they say
about living life to the fullest
 *
*
*
now the mower won’t start
in the middle of this rough day
I find myself
carrying a white towel
back to the house
 *
*
*
in my daughter’s room
which used to be my room
her shelf
full of model horses
all looking at me
 *
*
*
high clouds…
one horse leans in
against another-
before our children
my wife and I were like that
 *
*
*
with thunder very close
our little dog
gets in under my legs,
if only I could feel
so safe with myself
 *
*
*
early summer breeze
plays the sun
across the forest ferns-
everything so nice
I hardly know what to do
 *
*
*
before the new puppy
my wife got ten chickens,
before them two parakeets, two cats,
our two children and long ago
just me…
 *
*
*
at the old parking lot
the sparrows bathe
in a big puddle
sometimes I’m so happy
just to be here as witness
 *
*
*
my wife needs a room
of her own,
a place to close the door,
a place I never saw
in the sunnier days before
 *
*
*
a storm coming up
and as I take the laundry
off the line
it occurs to me
this is a moment to savor
 *
*
*
I hold back 
 saying anything
because of the way one thing
leads to another
if you let them start…
 *
*
*
hugging
perhaps too long
but not long enough
to remember
her name
 *
*
*
years are passing
unable to shed tears
for anyone-
will I wait to the end
to let it all go?
 *
*
*
I’ve never been homeless
but think of it
seeing that shed
with a broken window
dawn light streaming in
 *
*
*
the geese go where
they must go
no mind-
the spring rain drops
bouncing off me
 *
*
*
much of my life spent
wanting others to like
what I like-
in my jacket pocket the stone
is worked with worries
 *
*
*
having told her
I was writing less
and living more
I promptly write down
the absurdity of that
 *
*
*
for all that
which I will not get to
do in this life
the fountain carries on
in the rain
 *
*
*
the sun leaves me
at the Rest Area
with another day done
I entertain the thought
‘you can never go home again’
 *
*
*
you, ready as me
there on the other coast
imagine, to hop a freight
and leave behind all
that didn’t seem quite right
 *
*
*
in the wind
I rake and gather
leaves
with thoughts of people
I’ve known before
 *
*
*
the river must make
so many curves
to pass through the lowlands
             the way nature always
             says something to us
 *
*
*
this piercing cold
makes me realize
the gift it is to be alive
even if the way along
is too thin or thicketed
 *
*
*
in the attic
to set a mousetrap
I find a letter of long ago,
the fiction of a new love
that did not last
 *
*
*
amazing
flesh and bones
driving in heavy traffic,
that here I am
doing this
 *
*
*
in embers tonight
I stare
and wonder why
I am here,
you are there
 *
*
*
ten years later…
both married with one child
we all pass on a path
and smile politely
without a word
 *
*
*
cold walk home
I stop to pee
looking up in the dark
the tiniest of snowflakes
finds my nose
 *
*
*
to show me
the spirit of a train
I wish for one to come-
these overgrown tracks
I walk along
 *
*
*
the cold walk,
silence
between us,
the creek running
under ice
 *
*
*
three days removed
from Halloween
the ghost of me goes
through the motions
in this tattered family costume
 *
*
*
my favorite old t-shirt
through the wash
with my fountain pen in pocket
has left ink stains to wear
all around my heart
 *
*
*
showing my daughter
my childhood ‘fish’ jackknife
she promptly says:
“i’ll put that in your grave
when you die”
 *
*
*
in line
at the post office
I watch her
pen point search
for the last thing to say
 *
*
*
beneath the open
library window
she wakes slightly to stretch,
and beautifully
change position
 *
*
*
creating a space
in himself
that can’t be filled
        – his lengthy ritual
          seaside walks
 *
*
*
a pale sun
visits
every now and then
the crocus bed
you made
 *
*
*
in the bottom of a box
during our yard sale
I find my childhood chieftan ring
          – within five minutes
            my son has lost it
 *
*
*
sunset shot through
the mist nestled 
across the swamp,
how hard it can be
to forgive and forget 
 *
*
*

she looks long
at the ocean,
that place she threw
a rock and
her bracelet too…

 *
*
*

the concert over,
the crowd empties
out into the street,
where people and music go
in some eternal tune

 *
*
*

so the day
with its snow
and cold is done,
a three star
sudoku too!

 

 

 

 *
*
*
were I an old dog
with a happy grin
and even some naughty habits
it seems my family
might find me more sympathetic
 *
*
*

passing by so close
and quietly…
it’s as if the dark permits
the deer and me
a mutual sense of safety

 

 

 *
*
*

she presides over an hour
this sunny spring day…
when my focus begins to shift
she tells me
we aren’t done yet!

 

 

 *
*
*

of this world
one day
in a third floor mansion,
the next
at the bottom of the sea

 

 

 *
*
*

so much spring going on
yet the old truck,
going nowhere,
has a bird’s nest
built on a back tire

 

 

 

 *
*
*

 

by myself
driving by the lake,
the one I once drove by
with my mother,
that last trip out of town

 

 

 *
*
*

in the attic to clean
I read letter’s from my parents
to each other…
so many things
that cannot be thrown out

 

 

 

 

 *
*
*

I check out both ends
of the Staten Island ferry
and join the majority…
those who look ahead
to where we are going

 

 

 *
*
*

again this year
the leaves fall
and I watch…
the world as it is
still too much

 

 

 *
*
*

late night
alone in the stillness
the Christmas lights
go off and on,
off and on…

 

 

 

 *
*
*

before dawn…
this timeless journey
in the here and now
exploring further
myself again…

 

 

 

 *
*
*

cracks in the plaster
have appeared again,
as inevitable as ever
this difference
between us

 

 

 

 

 *
*
*

on my bike ride home
I pass a man and his kids
who both wave at me…
my happy wave back
in cycling fellowship

 

 

 

 *
*
*

how lovely
to do nothing at all
as these wind gusts
billow her blouse
a bit open

 

 

 

 

 *
*
*

no contest at all
sitting here under a willow
watching the water
while all sorts of chores
remain undone…

 

 

 

 *
*
*

yet another message
to be found out here,
this plains town
football field
without a scoreboard

 

 

 

 

 *
*
*

gently
the morning has come,
the ash tree leaves a flutter
as if I should hesitate
to find my way into the day

 

 

 

 *
*
*

I give up the search
and go out to buy
another bottle…deciding where
to safely hide it
I find the missing one!

 

 *
*
*

always wanting
to speed further away
from that day, pulled over
to be given a ticket
for my family to see

 

 

 *
*
*

made my bed
and lying in it
a whole night
without much sleep
but plenty of positions…

 

 

 *
*
*

perpendicular
to my path here
late in the day
quickening my step
someone I want to see…

 

 

 *
*
*

there was a first day
on the job and now
forty-two years later
I arrive at the last day
and walk out the door…

 

 

 *
*
*
post cards
from all over the world
sent with little messages
as if I was somewhere
beyond the living room…
 *
*
*
 raining leaves
in the balmy breeze
this walk shows me my life
has arrived with no need
to be at odds with itself

Selected little poems by Tom Clausen- possibly a few haiku mixed in..

15 Sunday Dec 2013

Posted by in Tom selected favorites

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another day
avoiding it
the sun
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
summer night-
in a pile of rubble
the house’s scent
 
 
 **
 
 
 
between poems
at the microphone
the wind…
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
another reminder
the blossoming tree
with thorns
 
 
 **
 
 
 
sun on new snow-
a chickadee
repeats its name!
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
in an opening
just right
Orion’s Belt
 
 
 
**
 
 
 
 the way
the waterfall flows
into being frozen
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 one generation
pushes another
in a swing
 
 
** 
 
 
 
autumn again-
after everything
I pour her tea
 
 
 
 **
 
 
each time
out to the U-haul
holding hands
 
 
 
** 
 
 
another day
a few birds fly
across the sunset
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
outside the meeting
  back and forth
   the sprinkler
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
 
 
stuck inside
the dog gets up
and turns around
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
autumn nightfall
dropping my son off
for something else
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
where I sit
on my usual bench
remains of a nut
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
on the trail again…
walking deeper
into myself
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
after our visit
in quiet, the things
I forgot to say…
 
 
 
 **
 
 
Halloween-
to a simple question
my life story
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
first snow gone-
this steady need
to practice
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
 
 
I choose one-
a roomful of chairs
without people
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
 
crickets…
my eyes closed
to the day
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
lunar eclipse-
back inside something I did
or didn’t do
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
letting her
walk all over me
ladybug
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
back home
these trees I knew
in all their seasons
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
another full moon
my checkbook
still unbalanced
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
snow filling
our tracks into the woods
by heart
 
 
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
undefended:
in the cold rain
their snow fort
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
long wait alone
in the parking lot…
a dog in the next car
 
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
keeping quiet
the day’s last light
on new grass
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
she wanders away…
her snail disembarks
the matchbox truck
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
alone
in the middle of a crowd
someone I knew
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
always takes his time
the custodian watches
the floor dry
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
peepers
my daughter whispers
something she knows
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
reading her letter-
suddenly aware of the look
on my face
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
from room to room
on the Clue board
a tiny spider
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
by the ocean…
again filled
with emptiness
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
reading into it
as much as i can
my life
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
a few floors down
in another building
someone else looks out
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
so much we have…
yet between us too
an emptiness
 
 
 
 
**
 
 
 
 
a few snow flakes
entering the woods
silence
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
cold dusk
my thoughts pass through
a crow flying by
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
boardwalk-
we go to one end
then the other
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
the plant in the window
has gone everywhere
it can
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
spring frost-
the park cannon aimed
at the church
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
in the empty room
two quiet types
father and son
 
 
 
 
**
 
 
 
 
despite
the development
deer path
 
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
a flat tire
near my father’s grave
I stop to visit
 
 
 
 
**
 
 
 
in love
bicycling
into the snowstorm
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
the spread of stars
wind moves the snow
from where it fell
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
between bites
from the apple
he stares…
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
lingering in bed…
the ceiling has no
answers
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
flea market-
the Rubik’s cube
already solved
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
snow fall-
my daughter asks where
we are going…
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
left and right
he follows the way
of his kicked stone
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
winter stars-
our meeting
un-arranged
 
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
wondering …
will the squirrel find
half of what it buried?
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
 
most of the rain
not falling
on me
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
mower won’t start
busy as a bee
a bee
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
straight out
of a dream
another day
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
steady rain
a pickle
in the parking lot
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
the dates
on the coins
I give up…
 
 
 
 **
 
 
spring
removing the neighbors
from view
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
the chainlink fence
runs into
high water
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
the crow
in me
gets a response
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
the habit of looking
where it used to be
– the mirror
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
garden walk-
she checks herself
in the pond
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
taking off my clothes
my heart
closer…
 
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
 
 
alone in the waiting room
checking the plant
for reality
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
droning plane fades out…
how little difference it makes
what age I am
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
my child asks
what keeps the moon up?
you do, I reply
 
 
 
 **
 
 
walking
through more
– my life
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
being there
in the woods
a tree falls
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
cross country runner
no one ahead
or behind
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
each
of the rain drops
that touch her…
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
mountaintop:
giving back
each breath
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
 
free spirits
a year later
they return
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
 
the way
rain takes
the mountain
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
for my son:
lifting a stone
to see
 
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
watering their plants
seeing their house
without them
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
rehearsing
the reading
to no one
 
 
 
 
**
 
 
 
 
the clouds
calligraphy
reads…
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
day break-
from the bread truck’s roof
frost swirls
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
dreary day…
jack o’lantern collapsed
on it’s grin
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
crane
on the horizon
holds a cloud
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
at the cliff edge
my whole life
behind me
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
closed-
deep inside
a light
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
under the manhole
the night gives
a gurgle
 
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
after the thriller
the wideness
of bed
 
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 
river bank swallows-
my beer label
peels easily
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
lying in the leaves-
the sun shares the shape
of her corduroys
 
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
the hypnotist
describes her technique…
sound of the stream
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
swallows sweep
through the cemetery
– fresh grave
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
stiff wind-
shadows of things
stretch on the street
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
 
passing me by
in the stillness
a snowmobile
 
 
 
 **
 
 
on the street
a person really happy
about something
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
    no one there
the bus driver
opens the door
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
back and forth
the elephant
weighs a foot
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
sunrise-
yesterday’s footprints
in the snow
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
on a rise
between headstones
a snowman
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
the custodian
brings up
karma

 
 
 
** 
 
 
in a day dream…
I almost
walk into her 
 
 
** 
 
 
end of its first day:
the shiny garbage can
all beat up
 
 
 
**
 
 
 
morning light-
the strangers have become
familiar
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
high up
against a big cloud
specks of birds
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
first day-
a student turns the map
every which way
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
daylight savings-
I leave my calendar
a month behind
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
in the way
of a dream
the turtle without a shell
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
overnight snow-
to help the sun
I shovel some
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
glint from a car
a stray thought
of Camelot
 
 
 
 
 **
 
 
time called
wrappers rush by
home plate
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
old wagon
the last load
still there
 
 
 
 **
 
 
 
end of the trail
the world
without humans
 
 
 
** 
 
 
 
 the back road…
one turn after another
more outrageous reds