Between Sleeps
May it be said, that between sleeps, I was as drunk as any flower. [ 744 ]
Tag Archive for ‘Haiku’
In Season
I wonder if it’s understood that each page is written with a smile. I wonder if my saying so can possibly make this clear. In Season To pine is to yearn — love blesses the ripened cones. [ 743 ]
Canvas 1,208 — Almost Dawn
Almost dawn — the first dove — as if love is a sweet eccentricity [ 735 ]
More Would Be Less
After a cloudburst, comes a jeweled heaven in the juniper tree. April 25, 2020 [ 730 ]
Low Tide
It’s easy to say, I want the best for everyone and everything, but it’s quite plain to me I don’t know what that best is. Lovely birch — her paper bark — no need for a pen today. [ 728 ]
Begging Bowl
I will be the cherry tree, and you will never know. March 20, 2020. Afternoon. [ 700 ]
Writing About Cherry Blossoms
Yesterday morning we drove past the cherry trees in the park across from the state capitol. Given the chilly weather lately — there was even some snow on the ground in the hilly areas around town — it will be many days yet before they are at the peak of their bloom. I was out this morning at the first hint of light, walking in an icy wind. I thought […]
Impermanence and Beauty
Impermanence and Beauty are sisters. To know one, you must know the other. And when you do, there’s no telling them apart. How I love them — their sky a mirror, their hair full of cherry blossoms. March 13, 2020 [ 694 ]
Did You Know?
We have a little haiku club that meets daily at our house. The birds serve tea and the trees play host. One talkative bright-blue scrub jay, I call Boccaccio. The dark fir, Shakespeare’s Ghost. Despite their windy natures, both of late kindly defer to the cherry, who is better known in our club as Kobayashi Issa — another name for wealth. Cherry blossoms — which secrets will she keep, and […]
Lincoln Memorial
Afternoon sunlight on Abraham Lincoln’s birthday, following a long foggy prelude. In it, the rising snowflakes are small moths. Earlier, juncos were splashing in the mossy-leafy rainwater collected in the birdbath. Most birds, I have found, do not like a clean tub. A scrub-jay just arrived, bright-blue against its bare perch in the fig tree. The shepherd’s purse is starting to bloom. The front sidewalk and retaining wall are deep […]
William Michaelian 
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