write haiku on fridays

He said “write about our week apart…”

Will your beard grow long
in seven days? And will I
grow any older?

Ocho Rios streets
teem with starfish and all things
Rastafarian.

A subtle shade, part
robin’s egg, part indigo,
Hallelujah Blue

Reeds and bamboo, a
man’s hands, his breath, conspire,
the sound of woodwinds.

A husband and wife
together work out their own
private equity

As if from granite,
the poet carves a sonnet
out of writer’s block.

She looks, considers
her options, not fearing
she might not find a way.

Not a sea change but
an earthly one, my father’s
bones now made of chalk.
.....

“Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that does fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.”

—The Tempest, Act I, Scene II

My poem came about when my friend suggested I write about “chalk.” The painting is Jackson Pollock’s “Full Fathom Five.”

Those owls and crickets,
moonlighting as musicians,
can’t keep a day job.

A curve up ahead
The driver failed to note the
jackrabbit crossing.