Cuttings: April
Haiku, Quintains, Short Poems, Tercets, Tankas
Spring Season
1998 - 2025
By Mike Garofalo
Place, Setting, Location:
Vancouver,
Clark County,
Columbia River Valley,
Washington,
2017-2025
damp ground
muddy trails—
watching my step
Zapped
by static—
surprised
Politics wobbly—
King T talks
and talks and talks
Silently
tulips bloom ...
by wooden shoes.
spacing saying
something
in three lines
nursery roses
roots and stalks—
digging holes
Desert road
straight ahead,
lonely behind.
dead bonsai
dried out—
washed the brown ceramic tray
Driving too Fast
and Crashed!!!
Lessons not learned.
spaced out
meanings
three lines
dusty books
unopened—
silent shelves
blocked
stuck—
need a writer's prompt
too much
to drink—
too boozed to think
April holds
tightly—
stiff and cold
too late—
pissed in my pants
could not wait
mad as hell
rants and raves—
I snuck away
dusk deepens—
we listen
coyote songs
some suffering
leads some
to Buddha's solutions
smells of sagebrush
on the wind—
wet raincoats drying
wormwood
dull grey-green—
Eastern Oregon
Turned off
the light—
listened to the night
Easter Sunday 2025
Easter eve—
See's Candy
bunny
Easter eve—
prom night
lovely ladies
Easter dawn—
Mithras-Jesus rising
from their graves
Easter morning—
adults hiding
eggs
Easter day—
pale violet
lilacs
Easter noon—
happy children
search for eggs
Easter afternoon—
hors-d'œuvres
deviled eggs
Easter dusk—
granparents
go home
Easter eve—
blood sugar
Higher
maple branches leafing
a softest green—
monkey bars for squirrels
Before daybreak
the lantern died—
closed the book
car Crash
ambulance
—sign of the cross
homeless woman
stands and begs—
American progress
Good news
Bad news—
Relative to whom?
I opened
my journal
waited ...
blank pages
becon—
pencil poised
Ferns
die away—
Reborn in May
rain drops
stopped—
began to walk
His rocking chair
stopped moving—
He died
coming
cumming—
Loud Sighs
fists touch
fight now—
betting window closed
buzzing zing
at frantic speeds—
hummingbird wings
She fell—
broken foot
limping moans
In my head,
sadness and dread—
my good old friend,
my cousin Judy,
she is dead.
potted plant
dry—
chores for today
Tillamook Spring—
green grass
grazing cows
the aftertaste
of rebukes—
friendship over
April 1st—
cherry trees
Red
gusty winds—
cherry blossoms
sca tt er e d
April sun
dries the mud—
red tulips
Walked two miles
in one hour;
slower at 80 now.
Morning
stretch—
thirsty
red mug
steaming—
taste of tea
steaming
cup—
Starbucks
drinking
at dusk—
Irish coffee
ugly child
cried—
ugly mom sighed
angry again
displeased—
cornered in
changes
endured—
seasonally
moss on rocks
lichens on trees—
pimples on my cheek
house plants
all around—
fresh air
Leaving my head
at the door;
rubbing my hand
across the sky;
opening my eyes
toward blind insights;
covering my legs
with stolen midnights.
Significance?
Nonsensical oddities.
Zen flavored delights.
The little girl said "Hi"
waved her hand and smiled
made me happier for awhile.
opening
his old letter—
lost lives replayed
Timed out
word done;
resting at home.
Talked with
my Brother—
tumor in his brain
we lost
the game—
our season ended that way
cold wind
rings chimes—
silence of drizzling rain
buttered bread
coffee black—
daybreak rituals
Loved
her songs ...
We sang along.
clouds gone
warming—
red tulips
dull mind
tired legs
old age
9,000 steps today—
spring sunshine
chores done
Bodhisattva Jizo or
Saint Christopher both
protect travelers from harm;
if travelers recite Sutras
or wear metal charms.
not high
not drunk—
overjoyed
drunks and stoners
annoy me
babbling aimlessly
cold tea
my tongue
afloat
Alcoholic mind
undermined,
time after time.
lava flows
hot and thick—
basalt cliffs
Some men brag
about their sexuality;
petty sleaze.
Tomorrow means
nothing to some
living now, for Today;
but the Past is Present
never unhitched ... Alive.
Bookstore Dilemma
Barnes and Noble
bookstore browsed—
the smell of new books
and coffee brewed,
tasty poetry books to peruse.
Poetry books
on fifteen shelves:
which one? which one?
My wallet wants to force a choice:
just one! just one!
Louise Gluck or Sylvia Plath
which one? which one?
Hungry to meet and hear them speak;
[ignoring my wallet}
I Bought Both!
Books are alive and talk repeatedly.
Entering the Cloud
She went outside, all alone,
opening her birthday present,
alive, she thought, by accident
Deep diving into veils of glass
rain on her last supper's plate
splitting her cold dead soul apart
Feeling the kitchen stove cooking
hearing transparenies unraveling
tasting the rusted bronze shield.
She saw clouds of cotton,
invading armies of carbon monoxide;
somehow she did not mind.
Five moths later
they found her dead,
her head in her oven,
Her eyes wide.
Syliva Plath, a suicide,
gave up her life, gladly,
before the age of 35.
Now she hardly knows herself
in her tiger striped sarcophagus
holding closely her copper pot.
She rests quietly in the dark.
Syliva Plath (1932-1963)
A Birthday Present, 1962,
Last Words, 1961
Place, Setting, Location:
Red Bluff, Tehama County,
North Sacramento Valley,
California, 1998-2016
head on hand
eyes down—
whiskey breath
Buddha's birthday—
2566 candles
burned to nothing.
[Siddhartha Gautama, circa: 4/8/563-483 BC]
roses
cut in the rain
pouring fragrances
Mt. Shasta in
my rear view mirror—
Mozart on a CD.
Her long stare;
a wink away
from the blush.
Arguing about Iraq
over lunch—
heartburn.
truth beyond words
beyond silence—
her big grin
Absentmindedly
walking nowhere—
orange sunrise.
black butterflies
making love—
April moon
Ahh! The wide almond groves
in full white
flower,
Stunning in the morning sun.
Old naked Winter in his garb of
grays and browns has run.
Forsythia blooms come and go
in the blink of a yellow Eye,
Then, suddenly, mysteriously,
Green erupts; and we sigh.
Dropped off
body and mind—
weeding new cuttings.
pines needles
silvered by the sun—
clear blue skies
flowers flying
in the breeze—
sweet scents of spring
April showers—
dogs cower
from the thunder.
A homeless man shivers in the sunshine.
Home of the free; land of the hungry.
soldiers on both sides
shiver at dawn—
homesick.
iridescent red
hedge roses—
scattered fog
one less
blanket on the bed—
April
Easter
morning—
rising
over stones
poppies.
Patriotism ripens till rotten
And the stink of revenge
Perfumes the victory prayers,
Or pathetic platitudes intoned.
Flesh falls from bones,
Sons become tombstones;
Mothers moan, fathers groan,
Brokenhearted in empty homes.
the military graveyard
needs mowing—
not a soul in sight
storing away
winter clothes—
months since she died
Full speed into the void—
arriving late...
before anyone
2,000 pound bombs
explode—
freedom rings
the icy silence
day after day—
smoldering anger
She caught my eye—
high in the sycamore
a poised hawk
America attacks—
flags hang
at half-mast
walking in the weeds
Sneezing
into the Spring breeze
Weathered shed,
screens crawling with wasps
shaking in the April gale.
two mares snoozing
in the tall spring grass—
cold north wind
Web of grapevines
crisscrossing the trellis—
ants .................................
Sunday rest
on shaded grass—
sermons by cherry blossoms
Everyone smiling
on this warm clear day—
Spring Fever.
Red winter,
Creamy white spring,
green summer—
firethorn
Cheering our hearts—
flushed spring leaves
applaud the winds.
Heartsick girl
sobbing on the schoolyard—
mind moves - flag flaps
Flip-flopping leaves:
silver, green, silver, green, silver ...
indecipherable winds.
Walnuts
last to leaf;
The Queen of nuts makes us wait.
reading Issa,
sipping tea
smiling
McDonald's Breakfast Club—
the good old boys
calling for Al-Quida blood.
headless mouse
by the back door—
ruthless cat
bad dream—
the sitcom laugh track
wakes me up
hot boulders
drying creek beds—
greening willows
He raises a toast
we pause ...
lifting our spirits.
a long drag,
a slow exhale—
deeper into dreams
long thick hair
my eyes to Full Hips
wandering lust
Scattering
behind the mower;
Clumps
of wet cut grass.
Jerked awake from
wrestling with demons.
Wounded dawn,
bloodied but triumphant,
reborn
utterly fresh.
walking on and on .........
my sweat steams back
Pine candles flickering green,
junipers yellow headed,
roses vibrant red ...
Stopping— I stared!
trenches dug—
sore back
tired arms
plastic chair
blown on its back,
resting today
below the bridge—
a wrinkled crone
sleeping alone
She pours more tea
politely—
our
chopsticks pause
Bees in pink-purple
plum blossoms—
first days of spring.
slowly awakening
curled in the covers ...
smelling coffee
Full kiai
bouncing off the dojo walls—
shaking in sweat-soaked gi
Yang Tai Chi
dancing
slowly
Enlivened gestures
perfect and strong.
T'ai Chi Ch'uan with Patricia Long.
step by step
walking away
from his past
Taxes forgotten—
weeding
mindlessly
Tax and spend Democrats.
Borrow and spend Republicans.
Nobody else can get elected, so
we fold up the flag.
Stop!
Under this huge cottonwood
Dancing up a storm
black life on dead pulp—
a fly
on my book
working on
a split rain fence—
big brown hawk
hiding his claws
Lively white cat,
dead brown sparrow:
Didn't get along!
black cows
fattened on high green grass
shadowed by black clouds
Truckload of cattle
on Slaughterhouse Road.
The would have not lived
without men.
Red Bluff Ro'day'o
Rounding e'm up—
Pointy toed boots and Stetsons.
the thousandth time
the train tracks roared—
dogs again bark back
cut grass clings to
wet brown boots—
daybreak
Sick son
worried
as I.
thin arms,
balding heads—
cancer ward
cold
x-ray room
groaning patients
savoring each thin breath—
the weak old man
recovers from pneumonia
My son,
weakening ...
sleeping half the day.
Stopped!
Sunset Road Panorama
pulled me over
half a leek left—
somewhere content
a farting gopher
Backyard rock garden—
my Stone Forest of Yunnan
beloved odd stones.
Chicken manure
ca ca doodle do do—
foul food for squash
Into the twilight—
a brown jackrabbit
heads to the pond
Peacocks and guinea hens
screeching—
the foals bolt.
weeds in bloom
bright red, yellow, white—
mowed down
preachers
gagging on their falsehoods—
infants vomiting formula
Samsara winks
Spring smiles—
Nirvana trickles underground.
bloody dead dog
crushed again—
turning trucks
One week a hero for many,
next week an enemy for some—
Palm Sunday
A woodpecker's knock
Cracks the quiet sky
Echoing off hardwoods
one not two,
two not one—
legs on a snake
The dark pines edge the deepest shade,
While cherry blossoms set and fade.
In downtown Portland,
the sunlight shimmers
in walls of glass,
mirroring steel and river.
Sea and creek meet
over rocks and sand—
noisy reunion
one toad
occasionally croaking—
lonely garden
Unafraid of demons
baffled by the zig-zag bridge;
the yellow carp swims
straight on.
lush green meadow—
orange glazed
poppies
Summer sun, winter snow;
corn ripens, trees bare.
Change is constant, our fates unfixed;
an open book, till we die.
skittish girls
ogling a cute boy—
blushing
Redbuds in bloom:
purple on purple,
Royal purple.
Pekin and Rouen
ducklings in the brooder,
peeping not quacking.
white roses
white cherry blossoms—
up in the blue dawn
hot rod parade
up Hilltop Road—
"Cool April Nights"
Years ago ...
my dad died—
the sadness still comes
and goes.
I held his hand
limp and pulse less;
both of us breathless.
My Dad for fifty
years,
Forever now: a dead man.
Michael James Garofalo
1/10/1916 - 4/2/1997
Months and Seasons |
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25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works
At the Edges of the West, Volume 1
Highway 101 and Hwy 1: Pacific Coast
At the Edges of the West, Volume 2
Highway 99 and Interstate 5
Poetry Research by Mike Garofalo
Mike Garofalo lives in Vancouver,
Washington.
He worked for 50 years
in city and county
public
libraries,
and in elementary
schools. He
graduated with
degrees in
philosophy,
library science, and
education. He
has been
a web
publisher since 1998.
25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works
Cuttings: April, Spring
First Distributed on the Internet
in September 1999.
Updated for Red Bluff until April of 2017.
This document was last edited, revised,
reformatted, added to, relinked,
changed, improved, or modified
by Mike Garofalo
on April 21, 2025.