New Tanka Poems

Siamese cat wanders
Searches for holes through the fence
To make an entrance
Smells the earth, limbs, grass and weeds
Tip of its tail waves and guides


Bold weed grows through rocks
Thick arms tipped with white flowers
Unknown water source
Thrives on sunshine, wind and air
And words of condemnation


Dryness makes static
Comb dry fingers through my hair
Frankenstein frizzies
Branching out, electrified
Shocking personality

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.