Tag Archives: nature poetry

Haiku November


November 1

Dig out of this hole,
Without a shovel or pick,
Get your nails dirty.

November 2

The veil is still thin,
Between the living and dead,
Time for a party.

November 3

Woodwinds are for thoughts,
Strings help to tell the story,
Drums time, brass color.

November 4

Office doors too small,
Like stuck in a concrete pipe,
No fore, no reverse.

November 5

Breakfast with the Boss,
Don’t take more than you can eat,
Keep a happy face.

November 6

Okay, give it up,
Why bother with things so hard,
You prefer soft foods.



November 7

Tell us the bold truth,
Shock us with reality,
We can take the pain.

November 8

Humidity climbs,
Thick clouds ride up from the gulf,
We wait for cold fronts.

November 9

Stunned by miracles,
Zombie masses wake to life,
Blood courses through brains.

November 10

Round about midnight,
On lawn a doe samples grass,
And nods approval.

November 11

She lost her baby,
Before it came to her world,
But in dreams they meet.

November 12

Lost count of clock time,
Gave away a day for free,
Quite the plutocrat.

November 13

Cold front drops off Plains,
Wind moans through windows northside,
We sleep like fence posts.

November 14

Don’t worry yourself,
They treat me right in prison,
Walls don’t bother me.



November 15

Ballast in the hold,
Kept the sad freighter afloat,
Till rust ate clean through.

November 16

Chained at the ankles,
Slaves made all the food and drink,
While masters kept watch.

November 17

Time off overdue,
Staring into sunsets red,
Solitude as friend.

November 18

Sniff this live virus,
Snort it back into your head,
Fear not snot nose kids.

November 19

Great bees buzz outside,
No, they are men with blowers,
Devolving past rakes.

November 20

Is it saleable?
Brothel culture aroma?
Then it may have legs.

November 21

No call no letters,
Clouds scudded across the sky,
Something was amiss.

November 22

Break up your schedule,
Astrologer said to me,
So I stayed in bed.



November 23

First they rob our graves,
Cape Cod rain gave them a cold,
Illness filled their ship.

November 24

Black Friday it’s called,
Turkey sandwiches and gas,
Hit the malls full blast.

November 25

Stuffing news in skull,
A parade of nonsense danced,
Giving us migraines.

November 26

Three days of kindness,
No excuses time to go,
Guests must hit the trail.

November 27

She was always late,
Lost in a maze of mirrors,
But thrilled to see me.

November 28

We wait, no one speaks,
As the days count down on us,
Fourth quarter job blues.

November 29

You got a future?
People looking after you?
Take another glance.

November 30

On the dotted line,
The pirate made his black X,
Seek not the treasure.

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Poem: “Against This Sleet”, notebooks, Jim Stallings

Against this sleet

Have you no hope?

Why the cower?

Why the limp?

Cripple in retreat

Even now as bombs burst—

Is this Earth

Not a green white Hell?

And you a subject,

A victim of random

Horrors dripping

Into frame after frame—

Your fear is justified—

You are a target

And your hiding place

Is only a flimsy hut

Against today’s attack.

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Filed under first thought, flash poetry, poetry, prose poetry, works in progress

Sand Sandwiches: A Fine Day at the Beach

The sky covered in a blanket of blue bruised clouds.

A beach above me. Over the horizon.

Blocking the sun,

Enough to take the sweat off the skin,

To threaten a chill as the sun sinks,

A long walk through the deer park,

Where through thick brush the white tail deer skitter in a line led by the youngest followed by mothering does and somewhat reluctantly by a slightly limping six point buck.

No reason to break from cover,

he probably grouses (should such communication matter in the minds of deer, almost unknowable like most of the transactions occurring on a daily wake up walk)

The blanket of blue clouds

like stuttering slaps of raised sand

footsteps across an endless beach leading to nowhere in particular.

I have no idea what to do with this invitation

but allow myself to breathe

and graze on energy with the rest of the herd

till full, lazy and seeking a nap,

under a bush, in safety obscured,

I forget myself and sleep,


That would  be a fine day at the beach.

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Filed under poetry, prose poetry