Halloween

Halloween —
Superman
hails a cab

passing the pumpkin patch

passing the pumpkin patch
my daughter rubs
her pregnant belly

photo by mmm

why am I here?

this isn’t a philosophical question. why am I at work two and a half hours earlier than usual?

basking

basking in the blue light
a loyal fan taps her foot


photo by mmm

between skyscrapers

between             skyscrapers
                sunset

twilight

twilight —
I direct a stranger
to the wrong train

cleaning out the attic

cleaning out the attic
an old photograph
of a younger me

Monday morning

Monday morning —
looking for a break
in the overcast

October

October —
removing the bird’s nest
from the air conditioner

writer's block - the ultimate inspiration

my “writer’s block” haiku was actually part of an article I wrote for the e-journal GotPoetry.com. I am reprinting the article in its entirety with my own permission.

Have you ever set aside a precious block of leisure time for writing, only to find that the Word Well has run dry? Speaking for myself, this phenomenon is at least as common as its opposite: experiencing a “haiku moment” without a means of capturing it in words. The latter often happens when I’m on the train: I see something that jars my imagination but circumstances make it impossible to write. The former usually occurs when I suddenly find myself with a few unclaimed minutes. I tell myself to write, but I draw a blank. I’m sure I’ve experienced something worth sharing, but nothing comes to mind.

In the past I’ve unplugged this creative logjam by writing about it. As a matter of a fact, my first published haiku was inspired by... a lack of inspiration:

staring
at a blank sheet of paper —
a night without words

What worked for me 12 or 13 years ago still works today. I try to write during my commute to and from Boston, but sometimes I’m totally empty. So the other day I started with “writer’s block“ as a first line and then gave myself the exercise to jot down the first interesting thing I saw:

writer’s block —
a man fishing bottles
from the trash

Looking through my archives reveals that I do this fairly often.

writer’s block —
the dog sniffs
every tree

writer’s block —
a kite
caught in a tree

writer’s block —
feeling every swing
of the axe

writer’s block —
rearranging
the poetry magnets

...and before I know it, I’m writing!

writer's block

writer’s block —
a man fishing bottles
from the trash

rush hour (and variation)

rush hour —
the billboard model
smiles at me

rush hour —
only the billboard model
smiles at me

can you?

can you spend the night?
a log in the fireplace
pops

El Día de la Raza

In many Latin American countries October 12th is known as El Día de la Raza, roughly translated as “The Day of The Race”. It is intended to “celebrate” the first encounters between Europeans and Native Americans. I think we all know how that worked out.

Many of you know that Mrs. Bitter and I spent a few days in Santa Fe last month. What many of you may not know is that our relationship is actually a much more successful encounter between two people of European and Native American ancestry. One result of this unique juxtaposition is that I have become very sensitive to the plight of Indigenous people in this and other countries. Not that I can ever undo over five centuries of Conquistador Kharma, but I can cast off my own ignorance and work toward some semblance of understanding.

A case in point: why on Earth would anyone want to commemorate the annihilation of a population, or the marginalization of a culture? Why not honor The Race that was here for centuries before Columbus darkened its shores? Click here to sign a petition to create a National Holiday for Native Americans.

Carpe Diem.

October rain

October rain —
the bag lady’s
clear plastic poncho

October wind

October wind —
chasing
the last train

crowded train

crowded train —
a dozen roses
in my face

Columbus Day

Columbus Day —
a styrofoam cup
floating in a puddle

Canyon Road

 

 

Canyon Road —
an antique chair
among weeds

 

 

 

 

 

photo by mmm — Santa Fe

dive bar

photo by mmm

for Francine Porad

windless night —
so many leaves
at the foot of the tree

late for the train

late for the train
the streetlights
fade

the artist's backyard

the artist’s backyard —
dried paint
on a broken saw horse

Santa Fe, NM

first day on the job

first day on the job —
a blackbird
with a chesnut in its beak

first day on the job —
a mouse scrambles
between shadows

first day on the job —
a sunflower sprouts
from a rusty caboose