Cuttings: February

Haiku and Short Poems
Winter and Spring Season
1998 - 2025

By Mike Garofalo

Place, Setting, Location:

Red Bluff, Tehama County,
North Sacramento Valley,
California, 1998-2016

Awakening,
I hear the truth—
gray rain on clay

Half-breed dog—
one ear up
one ear down

cat and I
eye to eye
curled in the covers

Mt. Shasta
in my rear view mirror—
Madonna on the radio.

hundreds of bees
humming—
cypresses in bloom

The raspy-voiced crow
perched on a pine pole
preached the Winged Dharma;
wayward birds trembled, fearing
rebirth as human beings.

A dog barks at nothing,
a thousand ducks twitch—
winds of winter.

Circled round by
snowcapped peaks—
white blossoms

Dragg'n my mind
round and round—
angry eyes

nightmares
at noon—
flu sweat

the oldest groundhog
died at dawn—
the rain stopped

walking past
my old dog's grave
not a trace

Daily rain—
from the deep well
this glass of water

Blossoms dance down the sidewalks
as sunlight fades—
feeling my age.

And before the wise ones disappeared;
Thousands of years of Coyote Tales.

truth in camouflage
steel gray vague
soldiers march into the fog

Bee hives
stacked in almond groves—
Valentine's Day

peeping killdeers harmonize
with roadway hum—
piercing sun

Railing against Do-Nothing Zen
Ekaku Haikuin presses
that one hand, hard,
stamps his staff
Clap, clap, clap, Clap!
Shouting, spittle flying,
he prods, and pokes, and preaches
till the fawning monks scatter.

He sits alone the long cold night
gazing into the fires of hell.

Ivy crawls
the walls of Shoin-ji...
night boats pass in silence.

warm valley—
countless geese
seeking refuge

"Eternal Truths" she said;
but in my heart of hearts,
they were forever dead.

crying over words
more than words
sad songs

rereading Lao-Tsu
at daybreak
the heavens cleared

Bedside lamp aglow,
porcelain gleaming—
Shasta Dam's turbines hum.

Biting off
more than I can chew—
a broken wisdom tooth

almond blossoms
mixed with mud—
hailstorm

Only the idea of self remains
Floating on a sea of cells;
Only heartbeats short of eternity
In breath after breath we dwell.

rain showers
come and go
shaping the hours

puddles mark
the passing storm—
muddy boots

yellow daffodils
bordered by hailstones—
migraine blur

between the covers
and the snooze alarms
snippets of sleep

Daffodils rise up
languid green
soon to sing, "Spring."

Droning raindrops
trickling ..... trickling:
Winter Raga.

no chirping
no barking—
rainstorm

Dark trees
darker clouds—
rain on my glasses

The Angel of Death
knocked once, knocked twice
my friend answered...
Bad News
drove home with us
teary eyed

drizzling
black skies—
dreams of summertime

Valentine's Day

Sipping steaming coffee—
their eyes playing
possibilities

Her silky blouse ...
Revealing!!

creamy white pear blossoms
wave in the winds—
he hands her a rose

Waving, nods, smiles ... gestures of trust

the woman touches his hand
he is calmed

Windswept away—
Valentine's Day
cards dropped

His snug blue pants
turns her head—
"nice buns."

Rogers and Hart long gone
Yet their song's resung
Reviving them in time ...
A Funny Valentine.

[Ornamental pears: Pyrus calleryana
and Pyrus kawakamii are covered
with white blossoms in our area
during the month of February.]

"You are That."
I am not That,
but part of That am I
and I a bit of That,
for the time-being,
for awhile, a lifetime,
while That changes.

"That Thou Art."
Thou aren't That,
except "That" as understood,
as idea, as assumed, as imagined;
as I
think I am, believe I am, wish I was;
while That changes what I am,
or will be.

"That" is always elusive, expanding to
the edge of the Big Everything
at either end of infinity ....
that is the way that That is,
not like this piece of popcorn
on the tip of my tongue.

Digging a hole
the shovel splits a white worm—
bare roots in the sun.

Squealing killdeers
sprinting across the path—
a jogger puffs by.

The pavement ended,
a dirt road began—
stopping in the rain.

Extra-black
Soaked almond trunks
White-topped

Old figs
unpruned, abandoned—
peacocks home.

puddles remain
after the rain
mirroring inky moods

red bluffs
cut by a winter creek
a blue oak falls

stiff knees
sore legs
squatting slowly

Setting potted figs
along the warm southern wall—
a goose flaps by.

A sack of bones that shits and pees
After gobbling flesh, and fruits,
and seeds.

Kadota figs
naked, sleeping in
a cold Saturday

strong children march
bent back by heavy backpacks
between the bells

rain-soaked
olive branches droop—
ground fogs rise

cold midnight
pounding rain—
only ghosts about

F February
E exposes
B beings
R roughly treated
U under
A advancing
R rains
Y yes, intense rain

Stiff fingers—
shattered light bulb
underfoot.

Smells of wet grass
echo down the long rows—
leafless almonds

Pygmy goats munching
wet mustard greens—
the World digesting itself.

a hawk floats
in the breeze—
gophers peeking up

With each step
the sopping clay
squishes.

Family pictures
frame the hallway—
sobering relics.

my breaths
mix with fog—
cold ears

worries
in and out
of mind

meaning lost
in the saying—
mystic's dilemma

The Night slips into
the Labyrinths of Dawn;
Puzzled, trapped,
blinded by the Light,
Lost in
the Corridors of the Sun.

dark sky
darker still
entering Storm

She lights
mullen candle sticks—
Fires for Februa.

Not a leaf bud
in a blue oak grove—
shadowless winter noon.

As unbending as Watch Towers
they stand and stand;
preaching for attention.

Weeding my fiction books;
into the giveaway box
two old Bibles tossed.

Presidents' Day:
George, Abraham, Franklin ...
Hail to the Chief!

The curled cat twitches
paws over eyes
dreaming of flying
down teeming skies.
What does this mean?
"Imagining what we see."

Years ago
my mother died—
the sadness still comes
and goes.

She read her last mystery novel;
later fell into a deep sleep and died.
Her last words:
"I never thought
it would end
like this."

Bertha June Garofalo
(4/2/1921 - 2/12/1994)

Place, Setting, Location:

Vancouver, Clark County,
Columbia River Valley,
Washington, 2017-2025

F February
E energy
B becoming
R released
U uplifting
A active
R resilent
Y young

More poems coming later
in 2025 from old file folders.

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At the Edges of the West, Volume 1
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At the Edges of the West, Volume 2
Highway 99 and Interstate 5

Cuttings: Haiku and Short Poems
Arranged by the Seasons

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 and library science, and did further studies in business and education. He has been a web publisher since 1998.

Michael Peter Garofalo (1946-) grew up in East Los Angeles, was educated in Catholic Schools, lived with two other brothers, graduated (B.A., M.S.) from local universities, married Blanche Karen Eubanks, served in the US Air Force, worked in and managed many City and Los Angeles County Public Libraries, raised two children, socialized, traveled, and learned. Retired as the Regional Administrator, East Region, Los Angeles County Public Library in 1998. We moved to a rural 5 acre property in Red Bluff, in the North Sacramento Valley, CA. Webmaster since 1999. Worked part-time for the Corning School District (Technology and Media Services Manager); and as a yoga, Taijiquan, and fitness club instructor until 2016. Traveled extensively in Northern California, Oregon, and Washington. We both retired, and we moved to Vancouver, WA, in 2017. Currently in 2025: reading, writing, gardening, poetry research, harmonica playing, activities with children and grand-daughters, home chores, yurt camping, exercise, traveling in the Northwest, walking, web publishing, family events, photography, Northwest research, Nature mysticism, and sports events.

25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works

Cuttings: Haiku and Short Poems
Arranged by the Seasons

Text Art and Concrete Poetry