last day of September

last day of September —
a baseball bat
next to the wood pile

a game of tag

I “borrowed” this from ago-go.

Directions:

Go to Google and click on the images link. Type in the following and post the first (or your favorite) picture the search engine finds:

The name of the town where you grew up

The name of the town where you live now

Your name

Your Grandmother’s name (pick one)

Your favorite food

Your favorite drink

Your favorite song

Your favorite smell

The name of the town where I grew up:



The name of the town where I live now:



My name:



My maternal grandmother’s name:



My favorite food:



My favorite drink:



My favorite song:



My favorite smell:



You’re it!

overcast

overcast —
knowing these crows
are talking about me

morning chill

morning chill —
the steamy breath
of my fellow commuters

late September

late September —
a baseball helmet
filled with rain

writer's block

writer’s block —
feeling every swing
of the axe

a perfect fall day

a perfect fall day
ruined
by yard work

gibbous moon

gibbous moon —
the dog sees something
I don’t

restless sleep

restless sleep —
a storm strengthens
in the gulf

Yawkey Station

Yawkey station —
the drunk no one wants to sit next to
is me

gravity walks

I don’t know what compels me to do it. I insist that I’m actually a pleasant and happy person most of the time. For some reason writing prods me into consistently dark places, and the words I spin together reflect this.

Just this morning I wrote to a friend I haven’t seen since 1991. I began a paragraph like this:

Other than the crippling realization that my youth is gone and that a slow decline in health and fortune await me, things are great.

fall begins

fall begins —
a stale dog biscuit
in my jacket pocket

September storm

September storm —
a pair of sneakers
dangling from a wire

the truth revealed

(taken from an imaginary interview)

esb: the fact is... I write haiku because I have ADD and really can't focus beyond three short lines.

CNN: oh, I see. how long have you had it?

esb: (pause) had what?

how many cans?

I’m not expected to make them all stand up, am I?

September

September —
a cloud of gnats
at the bus stop

crowded train

crowded train —
one more stranger
between us

end of summer (next in the endless series)

end of summer —
a bouquet of roses
on the subway platform

crafts fair

crafts fair —
buy two gods
get one free

end of summer (revisited)

end of summer —
the dog’s paw prints
on the picnic table

blood on the devil's megaphone

“Come to Christ!” she bellowed, before slamming the phone down.
I might have thanked God that the conversation was over,
but the only thing on my mind was the next beer—
cold and soothing to my lips, bitter in my throat,
like life,
like watching the life you’ve given
rage against you.

crowded train

crowded train —
searching for the source
of whiskey breath

moonrise

moonrise —
the glow of crosses
in an old cemetery

end of summer

end of summer —
the flashing lights
of a State Trooper

wedded bliss

Photos of my daughter’s wedding, courtesy of flickr.

backyard wedding

backyard wedding —
a child’s balloons
float away

blues for New Orleans

dark and silent —
a blues
bigger than New Orleans