of a son
A Cleave poem In the form of two Tankas tall, frosted windows reflecting dawn’s rays as the horizon lights up deep purple morning glories under cotton clouds opening to rain marking the autumn season harbinger of winter chill look upon a dull, brown world spelling tender petals' ends How to read a Cleave poem? Simply:… Continue reading Dawn, or: Twilight
A waltmarie Comprised of 5 consecutive American sentences A chilly breeze blows across the apartment through large, open windows. We find ourselves observing the shifting seasons, passengers through time. Our senses tingle at winter's birth, our bare hands; noses; tongues... our eyes. The frailty of bare trees and wind's colors are almost hard to look… Continue reading Windows, or: Fourth dimension
A haibun I can't recall ever being afraid of death, although my father's death led me to reflect deeply upon death's effects upon the yet living. Still, as uncomfortable as that line of thinking is, it leaves me tearful rather than fearful. Papa's death has also led me to think a lot about suffering. He… Continue reading Silence, or: The lambs
A Cywydd Llosgyrnog A leaf blown high into the sky lets out a wistful, knowing sigh: "Well, goodbye, my dearest friends." Distressed, his friends kick up a fuss: "This shall not stand! He's one of us!" Undone thus, all meet their ends.
A Haibun I have writer's block, in the sense that all I want to do most days is write; sometimes, it gets in the way of (/blocks me from) being fully present in my life. The composition of poetry is a defining aspect of my every day; it has become impossible for me to conceive… Continue reading Floating, or: Flying
The skeptic's kaddish 
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