Haiku Sequences
By William Dennis
Table of Contents
Another Year
Twenty Swallows
Garden State
More Forsythias
Little Juniata: haiku sequences composed on the Appalachian Trail
Down from Galehead: haiku sequences composed on the Appalachian Trail
Lunch on Stony Creek: a record of work
Snowman in Winter: winter's lasting impression
Thaw: winter's passing impression
Twenty Swallows
Garden State
More Forsythias
Little Juniata: haiku sequences composed on the Appalachian Trail
Down from Galehead: haiku sequences composed on the Appalachian Trail
Lunch on Stony Creek: a record of work
Snowman in Winter: winter's lasting impression
Thaw: winter's passing impression
driving our second daughter-- petal-fall at early spring’s end a hummingbird approaches fading camellias seed by seed eating them all-- chickadee banging his head to make a hard living-- downy woodpecker waiting and waiting for the hummingbird’s return to the camellia pain in the ass-- everyone I love-- present company-- droning on and on boring even the wood-- carpenter bees right wing left wing independent function-- steady goes the swift stoney land-- the better the path the better the garden tall azalea sports virgin buds once more summer house plants leaning out of their pots toward the earth late snow early tulips-- meet again rain on ice autos straddle past-- the crump of impact Bash-O |
First swallows what will they eat? The swallow peaks and pauses but here come more swallows The young swallow pokes its rump out of the nest Two swallows meeting in the hot air In the nest young swallows hating the cat Swallows cutting visible lines in the air Swallow’s wings work so hard for gnats Swallows it’s the shape their shape A swallow sipping from a wide V Drinking–the swallow sends a ripple over the whole pond Young swallows out of nowhere swarm around the mower Done imitating swallows mockingbird flaps off Twenty swallows seeking the right wire Swallows hungry enough to be eating bayberries Tree swallows– is it so late? For swallows zig-zag–a million miles to Mexico Fearless–the wren ignores the fearless swallow Swallows --first frost leaves the air so empty Swallows gone mosquitoes hum |
Mid-State Trail October 13, 1996,
Little Juniata Natural Area on Tussey Mountain, PA Chilly gravel lot to the path up Short Mountain – a single step Jewel moss brightens in light frost – not much of a life before Last grasshoppers hardly sing on Tussey Ridge – I catch my breath Walking on all this green moss must mean– lost in autumn Across the landslip tossing a pebble uphill ...fun with the Devil In cold dusk katydids still spread thin green wings Through thin canopy a tribe of warblers flits past chickadee’s bare twig Prostrate Virginia pine – future in agri-biz sweetness of the last sun shouldered out by Short Mountain in the night silence – bears holding their breath close enough to hear stepping over and around the young pine by our tent orange butterfly over yellow leaves heading north plums in cups drifts of acorns – squirrel grown lean in the rush acorns under all – quarry-bench grass gives way beneath birches how Lenape must have stared – round brown glossy mast oak nuts to write pretending the legs give out – legs pretend too catsclaw at the knee reminds – forget pines it’s all maple now |
Down from GaleheadAppalachian Trail, New Hampshire
Another small step – bunchberry climbs Mt. Lafayette Greenleaf Hut in the force of the wind – balsam hidden and revealed – down and back last night’s roof drifts in the lake of cloud Lafayette Mountain – the fox runs after its fur where trees lean northeast strong wind’s strength spares mountain potentilla its five white petals no one stands straight or marks the spot they spit at in the wind’s rapids whistle to this wind hollow frame of a pack – redstart’s two notes hunched in the notch where wind blows right through Lafayette Mountain small stones roll uphill in this wind – the mountain grows unbuckled on the ridge – below a buzzard spirals never looking up bluebead lily stands straight where I can not tight little buns slender stems between stones –armeria little woods sorrel clambering over stumps always there first hungry for trees – black birch aspen mountain oak– moose climbs from the pond under yellow birch a forest of woods sorrel sports very few bloom the moose is gone unlumbered by its bones – wearing the shamrock loud night at Galehead – in the dark lichen devours the rock silent chickadee – all day long the lungs feel full breathing stratus cloud things begun that must be finished– bending for bunchberry |
Lunch– Stony Creek sluggish and quiet– one spot clearing today Jerusalem artichoke lies on the path water snake succeeds –broken at neck and back– in drowning from stones to the left after long meditation – two sudden ducks hot wind – they must have a name for it the Japanese brown-bottomed stream a foot-long stone flashes away given away mud-suckers’ disguise – by pretty fins just for pretty – creek chub’s pectorals sleek fish– floating world reflected wood – creek chub lie along branches lazy chub mark current’s edge summer afternoon– drifting up-stream clear water – wind makes a quick roof for fishes woods stir for acres – excited by hot wind robin in spots puffed up after catching a bug flicker’s moustache on his chest full-sized flickers after cranky parents – knocking down dry leaves rising stiffly – the old heron may stay different reasons – cicada and kingfisher cry together normal enough kingfisher’s trademark laugh – for him today everything seems birds old stream – suddenly– no frogs crisped leaf dropped on the stream – first horizontal motion hammers penetrate the warbler’s wood – and cowbirds things one only sees alone quick hummingbird lunch stepping back over Jerusalem artichoke tall yesterday ants filing crumbs up a telephone pole – lunch over |
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Morning moon – blear with too many clouds with a cry – throwing back our counterpane river ice cracks in season ...duck stamps again creek chub too – stones with ice doilies on Valentine’s Day winter grass – at snow’s edge brown sparrow toys with a stalk courting crows – closer than their shadows below rotten snow on the moss-side – sun hunting west hair-cap moss edging out from under the old snow hood downed beech – blurred initials turning green grey all day but I feel good empty swings stop with snow on their seats |