Spoken War

I recently had the poem Veterans Park published at Spoken War.

Recycled Haiku

I teach a semester poetry class to high school students in my spare time. Actually, I let them discover poetry. We get out of the classroom, out of our box and look at things in a different way. One thing I try stress is poetry is everywhere–from the church service to the alley where homeless huddle around a burning barrel. Heck, you can even find poetry in poetry ( or prose)–

I took this title (waiting to come out of the haiku closet) ——feng shui is when she walks out talking the dog
and the last pack of cigarettes

from a poem recently and transformed it into a haiku: (somewhat of a recycled poem–a green haiku for the crafty green poet in us all–

feng shui is when she
slams the door taking the last
pack of cigarettes.

More often than not the class turns into a therapy session, but the kids make a connection with a bit of life and each other. The majority of these kids need or have to write. They need a vehicle to get it out–someway to keep their balance. At the end of the semester and a long the way, I learn more than I want to know and so do they.

Jazz Haiku–Frisking the Whiskers

Frisking the Whiskers

on the street two beat
jump jazz swings the door open
scat cats call us in

 

Sleeping on a Concrete Haiku

 

Sleeping on a Concrete Carpet

one eyed Mac snores in

empty doorways dreaming
of a full bottle meal.

 

 

Carry Me Home

the son
the brother
the husband
the father
the butcher
the baker
the candlestick maker
the angel
in disguise
staring into the face
of God
swing
low
sweet
chariot

Fat Tuesday

two winos
in the alley share
wind chilled
brown bag wine
heads lowered
over a dying fire
giving a silent thanks
for the bounty
they just received.

 

Feng Shui Haiku

feng shui is when she walks out talking the dog
and the last pack of cigarettes

nine times out of 10
when she says she means it, she
really does mean it.

Ozark Mountain Daredevils…Chicken Train.

“Hey Bartender, I Got Time for One More Round and a Haiku to go”

So That’s What They Call Blind Drunk

waking up half drunk
coyote dawn slipping out
lost my freakin’ keys

Pissing in a Dirty Urinal

It has come to this
copying for a good time …
Hank sings B-19

North Beach Again

kerouac alley
read poetry ‘neath city lights
the beats cast shadows
on spilled red wine– cracked concrete
echoes howl of north beach ghosts