Cuttings: Springtime

Haiku and Short Poems, Sonnets, Tanka
Spring Season
1998 - 2025

By Mike Garofalo

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

Spring

April

May

June

25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works

At the Edges of the West, Volume 1
Highway 101 and Hwy 1: Pacific Coast

The Gushen Grove Sonnets

Bundled Up: Tanka Poetry

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

Cuttings: Haiku

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.

Biography

25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works

Text Art and Concrete Poetry

Cuttings: June, Spring, Summer

First Distributed on the Internet WWW in September 1999.
Updated until April of 2017.
Posted new poems from Vancouver in April 2025.

This document was last edited, revised,
reformatted, added to, relinked,
changed, improved, or modified
by Mike Garofalo
on April 5, 2025.