{"id":11802,"date":"2022-02-02T09:42:00","date_gmt":"2022-02-02T09:42:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/?page_id=11802"},"modified":"2022-03-27T17:20:36","modified_gmt":"2022-03-27T17:20:36","slug":"haiku-corner-9","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/?page_id=11802","title":{"rendered":"HAIKU CORNER 9"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-11809 alignleft\" src=\"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/nn-Urashimataro-Public-domain-via-Wikimedia-Commons-Hokokuji_Bamboo_Forest_Kamakura-1-300x209.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"864\" height=\"602\" srcset=\"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/nn-Urashimataro-Public-domain-via-Wikimedia-Commons-Hokokuji_Bamboo_Forest_Kamakura-1-300x209.jpg 300w, https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/nn-Urashimataro-Public-domain-via-Wikimedia-Commons-Hokokuji_Bamboo_Forest_Kamakura-1-768x536.jpg 768w, https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/nn-Urashimataro-Public-domain-via-Wikimedia-Commons-Hokokuji_Bamboo_Forest_Kamakura-1-720x503.jpg 720w, https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/nn-Urashimataro-Public-domain-via-Wikimedia-Commons-Hokokuji_Bamboo_Forest_Kamakura-1-50x35.jpg 50w, https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/nn-Urashimataro-Public-domain-via-Wikimedia-Commons-Hokokuji_Bamboo_Forest_Kamakura-1.jpg 1024w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 864px) 100vw, 864px\" \/>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>slight breeze<br \/>\na boat separates<br \/>\nfrom the dock<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nnaked by the window<br \/>\nshe is draped in street light<br \/>\nand rain<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\na walk in the rain<br \/>\nbody prints in the bed<br \/>\nback home<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nsince I moved<br \/>\nto California the birds<br \/>\nsing of Texas<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nthe sound of a bell<br \/>\ncrawls over the hills<br \/>\nevening twilight<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nthe moon presses down<br \/>\non the wetlands<br \/>\nmist rises<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nDavid Watts\u2019s publications include seven books of poetry, three collections of short stories, two mystery novels, seven western novels, a Christmas memoir, and several essays. He is a physician, musician and past Radio\/TV personality. His haiku have appeared in <em>Hedgerow, Modern Haiku, Creatrix, The Bamboo Hut<\/em> and <em>Akitsu Quarterly<\/em> among others.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p>&nbsp;<br \/>\nEight dollars an hour<br \/>\nCan you feed your kids with that?<br \/>\nCan they live on dust?<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nEarth is fine.  It\u2019s us,<br \/>\nWe\u2019re the sick ones.  Greed chops up<br \/>\nour veins like carrots.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nWhen I fell in love,<br \/>\nit was forever.  Blessing?<br \/>\nCurse?  Rug and ceiling.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nI like being a<br \/>\nhomosexual.  I like<br \/>\nthe sun.  And darkness.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nIssa and I on a train.<br \/>\nNo depot, no arrival,<br \/>\nmany opening buds.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nThat\u2019s me, tied to the<br \/>\ntrain track screaming\u2014until I<br \/>\nsee the train is clouds.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nDavid Bowie died.<br \/>\nHis songs visit me.  We have<br \/>\niced tea on the porch.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nSpring in a coffin<br \/>\nlooks fresh, yet dead.  I touch<br \/>\nthe corpse and wait.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nKenneth Pobo also has a new chapbook coming out called <em>Lavender fire, Lavender Rose.<\/em><br \/>\n&nbsp;<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p>&nbsp;<br \/>\n<strong>The Chickens&nbsp;<\/strong><br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nBecause<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nbaking blackberry muffins<br \/>\non a fall afternoon<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\ndepends so much<br \/>\nupon thoughts<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nof your neighbor\u2019s bantam rooster<br \/>\nHamlet<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\n&amp; his tawny sister<br \/>\nNugget<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\noh&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;     tiny dinosaurs<br \/>\nwith blue feet!<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nhow they strut alongside<br \/>\nthe quiet road<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nuncrossed<br \/>\n&amp; sleekening<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nin the low sun\u2019s<br \/>\ngold<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nStephanie L. Harper is a recently transplanted Oregonian living in Indianapolis, IN. Harper is the author of the chapbooks This Being Done and The Death\u2019s-Head\u2019s Testament. Her poems appear or are forthcoming in<em> Slippery Elm Literary Journal, Panoply, Whale Road Review, Moonchild Magazine, North Dakota Quarterly,<\/em> and elsewhere.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>I see only sky<br \/>\nthe geese<br \/>\na flight path<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nsheltering in place\t\t\t\t\t\t+<br \/>\nparking tickets fluttering<br \/>\non windshields<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\na blizzard swirls<br \/>\naround the redbird tree<br \/>\nsnowglobe<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nthrowing away<br \/>\nthe colored tinsel<br \/>\nI rethink old ideas<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nwalking home<br \/>\nthe sound of pickets<br \/>\nwhite xylophone<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nafter the divorce<br \/>\nshe speaks<br \/>\nin singular mode<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\npower outage<br \/>\nthis silence<br \/>\nshould have a name<br \/>\n&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>David Watts (again) arrived to poetry mid-life, expanded into short stories, NPR commentary, novels and now haiku. Formally trained as a musician and medical doctor. Lecturer in poetry and in the humanistic values of medicine.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p>&nbsp;<br \/>\nhow lonely it is to be feared<br \/>\nby cheerful birds\u2014<br \/>\nhawk atop fencepost<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nearly spring\u2014<br \/>\noak trees budding<br \/>\nyellow as the sun<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\na brown finch call\u2026<br \/>\nfrom the opposing cedar hill<br \/>\na return greeting<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nfading world\u2014<br \/>\nshadows of the hills<br \/>\nduring sunset<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nhouse finch<br \/>\ncalm as the wind-swept cedar<br \/>\nsplashes water on its wings<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nin a dark place<br \/>\na bluebonnet rises<br \/>\nfrom dead leaves<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nin the shape of a scythe<br \/>\nthe day moon waits<br \/>\nfor nightfall<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nLuke Levi graduated from Texas State University with a Bachelor of Business Administration in Finance. His haiku can be found in <em>Humana Obscura&#8217;s<\/em> spring\/summer 2021 issue. You can often find him sitting outside, listening to birds singing in the Texas Hill Country.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p>&nbsp;<br \/>\nmy morning coffee<br \/>\nI sketch the eyes of god<br \/>\nthrough empty cups<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nthis itch to slither<br \/>\npith of stars,<br \/>\nslung like a sling-<br \/>\nshot from the cosmos<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nPamela Gemme is a poet, political activist, and and the art editor of the forthcoming Essential Voices Anthology Borderless Books WVU. She lives in Boston Massachusetts., Recent or forthcoming publications include <em>The American Journal of Poetry, Haiku Journal, The Chicago Quarterly Review, Heliotrope Anthology, J Journal, Eclipse Literary Journal, The Ghazal Page<\/em> and many others.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p>&nbsp;<br \/>\n<strong>Sunburn<\/strong><br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nCenter piece, middle<br \/>\nBrother, you left an<br \/>\nIncomplete poem<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nOr should I say my<br \/>\nMemory is partial,<br \/>\nThe heart of it gone<br \/>\n&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 580px;\">\n<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<em>Invisible ink<br \/>\n&nbsp;<\/em><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<em>Turning it to red<br \/>\n&nbsp;<\/em><br \/>\nMiami Youth Fair<br \/>\nBlue ribbon winner,<br \/>\nHigh school haiku, just<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nSeven syllables \u2013<br \/>\nReader, I tried, I<br \/>\nCannot finish it<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nBill Hollands holds degrees from Williams College, Cambridge University, and the University of Michigan. He is a teacher and poet in Seattle, where he lives with his husband and their son. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in <em>Rattle, Hawai`i Pacific Review, The Summerset Review, 3Elements, PageBoy,<\/em> and elsewhere.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<\/p>\n<hr>\n<p><strong>Tongues &amp; Tributaries<\/strong><br \/>\n&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Number<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nRust and rage like stars<br \/>\nAnd they say this life is hard<br \/>\nA bright tangled space<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nStrewn<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nCut and recycle<br \/>\nA kinetic parity<br \/>\nLike a homonym<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nIndex<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nWhat it looks to me<br \/>\nTallow sharp and diminished<br \/>\nArdor blue index<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nEpithet<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nGenus and species:<br \/>\nA transitive politic<br \/>\nNo-name epithet<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nPandemic<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nDownright existent<br \/>\nBig business behind closed doors<br \/>\nPandemic discourse<\/p>\n<p>NYC<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nJazz, New York City:<br \/>\nThe rot iron beat glaring<br \/>\nLike autumn in swing<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nAffect<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nBright as the noon sun<br \/>\nOn-kilter and somatic<br \/>\nPretense, strike me down<br \/>\n&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Tim Russow earned a B.A. in English from Boise State University. His poetry is published in the BSU English Department\u2019s newsletter<em> Wit\u2019s End, The Cabin Literary Center\u2019s WITA: Nerve, Military Experience and the Art<em>, and <em>Narrative Northeast.<\/em><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n<p><em><em><em><em><\/em><\/em><em><em><\/em><\/em><em><em><\/em><\/em><em><em><\/em><\/em><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n<hr>\n<p>Fall-purpled bracts\u2014 sunned<br \/>\ndew prays up, prismatic: dark<br \/>\ngreen understory.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nAutumn hydrangea\u2014<br \/>\nblooms browned, dried in clusters: song<br \/>\na bright dead chorus.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nStreets gingko golden\u2014<br \/>\nOctober-heady light: loss<br \/>\nseems impossible.<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nVioleta Garcia-Mendoza is a Spanish-American poet, writer, and photographer. She is a member of Carlow University\u2019s Madwomen in the Attic Writing Workshops and a reader for <em>Split Rock Review\/Press.<em> Her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and has recently appeared or is forthcoming in <em>Peatsmoke, The Dewdrop,<\/em> and <em>Saint Katherine Review.<em> Violeta lives with her family in Western Pennsylvania.<\/em><\/em><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n<p><em><em><em><em><br \/>\n<\/em><em><\/em><em><em><br \/>\n<\/em><\/em><em><em><\/em><\/em><\/em><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n<p><em><br \/>\n<\/em><em><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; slight breeze a boat separates from the dock &nbsp; naked by the window she is draped in street light and rain &nbsp; a walk in the rain body prints in the bed back home &nbsp; since I moved to California the birds sing of Texas &nbsp; the sound of a bell crawls over the [&#038;hellip<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-11802","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/11802","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=11802"}],"version-history":[{"count":9,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/11802\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":12220,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/11802\/revisions\/12220"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=11802"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}