Cuttings: Springtime
Haiku, Short Poems, Tanka
Spring Season
April, May, June, Summer
1998 - 2025
By Mike Garofalo
Place, Setting, Location:
Vancouver, Clark County,
Columbia River Valley,
Washington, 2017-2025
never ever Simple—
simplifying or
simplicity
history books
unopened—
American minds
open gate
saluting
daybreak
eyes horizontal
nose vertical—
my mind stood Up
side
d
o
w
n
sins forgiven
crucifix crossed—
ballast tossed
bitter
memories
taste of defeat
Your never to old
to embrace ...
a stupid idea.
bugle sounds
Taps—
lights out
I tossed cans
in the recycling bin—
mea culpa
damp ground
muddy trails—
watching my step
his rocking chair
sopped moving—
he died
car Crash
ambulance
—sign of the cross
homeless woman
stands and begs—
American progress
Good news
Bad news—
Relative to whom?
Tillamook Spring—
green grass
grazing cows
the aftertaste
of rebukes—
friendship over
One Picture of Me
This bony skull of mine
electrified
pictured onscreen for me.
Doctor recommends
some oral surgery.
The brain disappeared,
an empty space
sliced from
X Ray images retraced.
Eyeless in inner space.
Monkey nose holes,
bony eye glasses,
teeth glowing in the dark.
Inner spaces never seen
underneath my very being.
Skinless, noseless, earless,
a shape, a form—
the images informed.
Stripping away the unneeded,
revealing my inner core.
The Dalai Lama opened the door
making Love, Helpfulness, Decency
the Essence of the Religious Core;
Not beliefs, not creeds, not lore
not arguments; show Kindness.
On the Vernal Equinox,
staring at the calm sea;
Mallard ducks,
peck the grassy ground.
Drizzle coming down.
"When does God sleep?"
asked the child;
Jesus answered
with a smile:
"Nunca oí a Dios roncar."
Place, Setting, Loacation:
Red Bluff, Tehama County,
North Sacramento Valley,
California, 1998-2016
head on hand
eyes down—
whiskey breath
Dry wind—
the sweetness
of the last cherry.
Last day of Spring
ripe purple plums drop—
form is emptiness.
First day of Summer
ditch completely dry—
emptiness is form.
Thousands of leaves
shake in the breeze—
empty sky.
Laugh at the dying of the Light
Embrace the Uncertain Night
Useless to Rage and Rage
Boozing your guts away
Rather Face the Fucking Day.
ticking my life away
indifferent clocks
everywhere
Walking the fence line, eyes downcast;
Humming a rock tune, smiling at last.
lathhouse shade—
the scent of honeysuckle
fills the shadows
Dirty hand, callused palm,
black fingernails—
Green Thumb.
headless mouse
by the back door
ruthless cat
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.
walking in the weeds
sneezing
into the spring breeze
Easter
morning—
rising
over stones
poppies
Under our floor,
spider families.
Two worlds,
an inch apart.
covered with ants—
dead lizard
disappearing .....
bit by bit
often
Wide mind, Deep feelings
poemless
Red Bluff Ro'day'o
Rounding e'm up—
pointy toed boots and Stetsons
A homeless man shivers in the sunshine.
Home of the free; land of the hungry.
Sunday rest
on shaded grass—
sermons by cherry blossoms.
The Night waited patiently
turning Time to and fro
quietly seeking dawn's glow
while raindrops caressed trees
Cold breezes knocked fences
branches bent and buckled
Time both stopped and started
crawling slowly to Dawn's ascension
Pre-Dawn thoughts slowly uttered
seemed insightful, mostly not,
random images, soggy plots,
impotent ideas, platitudes buttered
Finally, the sun broke the impass.
Time was unchained to roll at last.
Magpies hop and squawk to start our day,
begging for dog food in the feeder tray.
a long drag,
a slow exhale—
deeper into dreams
No flowers, no bees;
No bees, no flowers.
Blooming and buzzing,
Buzzing and blooming;
Married and still in Love.
trenches dug—
sore back
tired arms
black cows
fattened on high green grass
shadowed by black clouds
Odd frong
crawls out of hole—
CRRROakK!
The thousandth time
the train tracks roared—
dogs again bark back.
Up and down, up and down, up and down;
two hummingbirds fussing round and round.
Hunted in the Night
In the bowels of darkness, grim and cold,
the heads of the hunted turned,
young and old;
Fearing the rattle in the weeds.
White teeth,
Prowling predators, hard claws unsheathed.
Ears up listening, listening, still as knives,
Fangs barred, dripping tongues, hungry eyes.
Coyotes did their yap-yap howl
Mice and rabbits in holes hide
Racoons and possums growled
Bats flew fast from side to side
The Killer-Hunters are on duty now
In the night, the Night, knowing how.
A woodpecker's knock
Cracks the quiet sky
Echoing off hardwoods
The force of Spring—
mysterious,
fecund,
powerful beyond measure.
Cloudless morning
pale blue sky—
single meadowlark's cry.
one toad
occasionally croaking
lonely garden
Unafraid of demons,
unbaffled by the zig-zag bridge—
the yellow carp swims
straight on.
Nimble fingers picking
fistfuls of cherries—
spitting pits.
cottonwood fluff
stuck to dry weeds—
silent wind chimes
The Mind is a vast Bodhi forest,
The body a Bodhi tree.
Dirt is in every cranny,
Flowers blossom, leaves fall.
The Bodhi Trees have been cut down,
The Bright Mirrors shattered.
Beginning with nothing,
Replant the trees, remake the mirrors.
Make one's mind like a mirror,
One's body like the Giving tree.
Reflect accurately and impartially;
Give fruit and shade.
Flesh to flesh—
mating
May-flies
Weeds turn yellow as the days grow long;
we move the sprinkler on the lawn.
Will Cherished Ideas Survive?
No Guarantees that to the End
Our cherished ideals will survive,
Our great great grandchildren will thrive,
Our monuments stand ...
Our guarantees?
This tree my great great grandmother planted,
This dog-eared Leaves of Grass on my desk,
This classic folksong on my breath,
This heirloom apple in my hand ...
This day,
no guarantees
for or against.
Good! So we strive on,
Their and our hopes in our hands now.
Months and Seasons |
|||
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: Springtime
April, May, June, Summer
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 8, 2025.