{broke my leg/ ankle on xmas day: 4 screws and a metal plate for stumbling ... pain ... next xmas, another operation to take them out}


screw, multiple
OR doctors to discuss lady Gaga
falling short of defining bionic
drifting colors

December Full Moon Dancing Ovation

full moon
as I am becoming
last one this year yet my first

his fingertips galloping
more mirrors to the fullest moon
one thousand depths and one

multiple gaits
irrelevant time to come
leaking even more of swelling moons

just before the full stop
pulling back those chains of moons
to dare to reclaim Ra

any circle is The circle
Ra or full moon
I am within the naked mirror

~

gust of wind
riding a plastic bag
the itchiness of my throat
haze moves in waves
since you left

+

{Cannot stay away from writing for too long ... specially when having fever and within walls ... my sky is the white paper dipped in imagination}

P.S:

{Self imposed holidays. See you next year reader. Whomever you are, all the best wishes from foolish me. Ocean Kiss.}
{Life in all its nonsense is perfect}
{HAPPY 2011}

thoughts

# {... Should Haiku be an eternal truth aha moment or should it, through inverse reading, have additional depth. Not many offer both. To which point, can we set the priority?}


# {... Are poets addict on writing that the pleasure of first writing gets lost in a blood over consumed, over saturated with writing?}


# {... Do poets who are psychic need isolation to filter out their own voice... If not, wouldn't the confusion of voices, consume tender hearts?}

~

water colors of earth

two coats tugging one umbrella then

under the dome one aura glows

stepping back to observe

on wall a painting-window

my kite to autumn, your scent

~

First snow
pulling my shadow
Nikkon


(published in Sketchbook_5-6_NovDec_first_snow_Haiku_Thread )

,

a snowflake
summons
me

melting

on his lower lip

\_/ ~

flipping winter into summer
one shot of ginseng
diving to rise

fresh salmon, steamed
more heat
open windows

Stories

by the chimney
embroidery of snow
her rocking chair rhythm
I stand still
to plunge in non verbal stories


following her needle point
eyes shut
to enter wounds
emerging with
the art of life


softness of scent
lingers in details
semi effaced wedding ring
the crushing presence of
grace on fingertips