New Gogyohka Poems

bird
on a
wire
flips
its tail


wind
rushes
and bends my
willow
tree


black grackle
hops
and
rushes
to water


silver
bird
has
black
wing tips


life
is a
test
of
patience


feel the rush
on my bicycle
peddling fast
down a dirt road
turn and crash


a teacher
once said
the answer
is
all around you


I pluck
my
Kalimba
for
rain


Willow
sways
to the tune
of the
wind


role
reversal
Mother
is like
a child


Neighbor
smiles
from his
side of
the fence


end of day
takes
the weight
off
my feet

More New Haiku Poems

Wild wind whips my hair
Tosses it into tangles
Wearing weird hairdo

Rocks surround plant bed
Sun droops morning glory leaves
Water perks them up

Sensor light turns on
Lift up blind to peek and wink
Hopping frog eats bugs

Hummingbird whizzes
Flies around the Hollyhocks
Suckles pink flowers

Mexican Elder
Long-handled lopper works good
Dead branches clipped off

Butterfly dances
Mexican Elder approves
Breezy air flutters

Nighttime is falling
Trees become dark shape shifters
Time to go in now

Wishing for Rain

I want to be a turquoise bird
with a sandy beak and sandy legs,
coral rings around blue eyes,
salmon bands across the feathers,
white throat and white chest,
sitting like a sculpture on my
weathered, rustic picket fence,
to feel the wind blow black clouds
southward, to wait like an icon
wishing for the coolness of rain.

Instead I lay down on the couch
and fall asleep like a tired ol' bear
who just ravaged for dinner,
feeling fat as a fully fed female
on a fearless Friday night,
with nothing else to do except
drag her feet around the cave
after waking from a two hour nap.

A Bird in the Pine

It felt good, the sunshine.
I felt like working in my yard
to lift my "hate the winter" spirit
on a warm Sunday, overcast clearing
to a baby blue sky.

Content to unwrap, unroll
a new garden hose
to water pines,
evergreens and shrubs.
I still need to learn
what trees they are.
A shrub between
carport and chain link fence,
is dotted with fingernail-sized
bluish-purple flowers.

As I water one of the pine trees,
wings flutter into the branches.
A small bird frolics in the pool of water
underneath, as if it is Spring,
flying back to upper limbs
then back to splash in water.
I don't know what kind of bird it is –
a finch? – smaller than my fist
with gray and white on top of its head,
neck, wings - short, manicured tail,
a pale, pale yellow on its underside.
It has a cute, paunch belly.

I must buy wild birdseed and pour
it into the oval-shaped basket held
by the sculptured garden angel
that the previous homeowner
blessed me with, left in my back yard.

Face Painter and Her Bird

© 2008 Photo by Sue Miller