Cuttings: July

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

By Mike Garofalo

Place, Setting, Location:

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

bandaged fingers
slowly wiping
bloodstained knife

Overcast summer day—
pigeons touch down
on cooler ground.

Everything limp
under the sun's whip—
yearning for darkness.

cornstalks swaying
knee high—
Fourth of July

Slowly watering
heavy grape vines—
moonlit garden path.

sun burnt
wasted land
bristling with star thistles

Rising sun
lifts the long shadows—
cattle move again

Only hours before they die,
dragonflies;
wildly mating,
before our eyes.

sitting naked
Alone—
then she comes home

our lips smack
separating
our fantasies

scent of her flowers
woozy
kissing her knee

ruckus on
damp sheets all askew—
panting face to face

trembling together
we explode!
groaning ...

Sharpening the shovel
Shining edge of steel
Sparks

fresh tender corn
my neighbor's pride and prize,
shared

Hot night—
my panting dog
stares in the screen door

A hole in my boot—
deep cracks
in the baked brown clay

American holiday—
dogs bark
from pickup trucks

In the right place at the right time,
tomato worms on tomato vines.

She is perfectly still,
calm and concerned;
poised by the vines,
hunting for worms.

on the pond
glaring sun—
silvery halos

sipping 7 and 7
lazy eyed;
the sun sets

Threatening rain—
the willow bows
down to the gusts

When I asked you to water the plants,
I did not expect
you'd unzip your pants.

Wolf spiders
prowling the night—
crickets sound alarmed

the wind stopped
I stare
listening to Bach

Holiday weekend slipping away,
children depart—
one last hug

Crushed in a book,
a flat oak leaf
kindles a deep memory.

Thunderstorms on the Fourth
do flash and roar;
flag folded, fireworks boxed,
we watch from the door.

misplaced my work gloves
again
annoyance

dried grasses
crackling underfoot—
singing summer songs

Pond rising,
unfilling, filling ...
a blur of ripples.

Thirty years, or months,
or minutes writing haiku—
sun, moon, eclipses.

Yosemite summers
from the Ice Age of my youth—
"Let the fire fall!"

smoky campfires
border the cold Merced—
young mothers laugh

my first cup of coffee
one cold morning—
bigwig Junior Ranger

mountains to mountains
the Great Valley—
sweltering haze

Unraveling out of seeds,
bursting forth from Gaia’s dark womb,
tomato vines and squash bushes
filled with flowers and fruits aplenty.

We dance around Chaos,
praying for life,
wanting the future,
wanting the taste on our tongues,
wanting, wanting … Eros in our hearts.

Memories of her are dimming
in my old mind;
yet, crossing a decade,
mom's soft smile still shines.

A bit stiff and sore
we sip water in the shade;
our day's gardening done,
admiring what we've made.

Cowboy poems in hand
she fell asleep—
the cadence of snoring.

114° F
(few move)
even ole
an
ders
dr
o
o
p

Cut logs
stacked three stories high—
screeching mill saws.

a dead frog
covered with
flies: eating and laying eggs

our three ducks
all dead in three years—
coyote dinners

rectangular lakes
four acres flat:
rice seedlings greening up

Waiting, waiting, waiting ...
Yes!
Two acre feet
comes flowing
down
the dry
ditch.

"cool summer morning"
three words
from the lips of Eros

My wife
picking peppers and squash—
a smile on her face.

cloudless summer sky
pure sunshine
Hot
white oleanders
dry brown clay
July

along this gravel road—
few travel
but lizards

A Gift of Dried Garlic Flowers

We dug up and turned over the soil.
We added cow manure and mixed well.
We flattened the ground and raked it up.
We sat down: rested, reflected, enough.

We opened packets of garden seeds.
Seeds for herbs and heirloom chives.
Bags of onion sets and garlic cloves.
These starters met all our needs.

For the many Springs of Future Years,
when the Allium stalks stand high
and bloom; we will remember (Yea!)
our First Garden in Red Bluff CA!
We achieved that today.

Later
on the table, a gift for hours,
dried white garlic flowers.

Fan cooled midday nap—
a pleasant dream:
a football game in the rain

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.

Drunken gun zealot,
loud-mouthing his rights;
Everyone silent,
put-off, uptight.

Worldwide
many suffer
even as peaches ripen

Exactly at noon—
the branch cracks,
loaded with peaches

One by one they drop
on the ground, ripe peaches—
at day's end.

hot winds:
red dry faces,
wilted leaves

We laugh out loud—
frogs leap from the bank
scattering ripples on the pond.

The Vietnamese
roadside strawberry stand
sold out. Sign up: CLOSE

The hammer falls
on shadowed ground—
view from the arbor top.

At the edges of one mind
are other minds.
Everything gives birth to something;
One thing is indebted to everything.
I water the peach,
peaches feed me in time.

Soil, sun, rain, sky ...
Four Elements embracing,
Intertwined in mind.
Unfathomable Matrix;
Scaffolds on scaffolds
Grounded in Otherness.
Below seeds, flowers, leaves,
stems, roots ...
Below wet cells embraced,
Below atoms dancing on Energy ...
Deeper and deeper below into
What? A Plenitude, sacredness.

Worldlink TV:
window to the Third World's
life, work and woes.

worrying
about wrongs and rights—
awake all night

Huffing and puffing—
my heart protests
its decades of work

A Sunday in July

Children playing in shallow river pools;
fat grandpas sleeping in the shade.

Burnt leaves on sagging shrubs;
robins munching on wiggling worms.

Cold beer and crispy chips;
music playing from cellphone chips.

I watched them baptize a weeping woman,
now saved from the fires of hell,
safe and soaking wet.

A firecracker cut the laughter,
dogs barked, babies cried,
the smell of powder smoked by.

Hamburgers coated in ketchup red,
laced with lettuce on tired bread,
bit by bit down the hatch,
bellies satisfied at last.

Corndogs and cornbread,
beans and coleslaw;
dirty paper plates in paper bags,
pink vomit on the green grass.

Riverbed rocks bit their cold toes,
mosquitoes bit their sun burnt backs,
lovers bit their aroused lips,
infants bit their mommies breasts.

Dry ground,
centuries of death things
underfoot,
covered by a grey wool blanket
hiding this Distant Past.

In this way on this day
the thousands of drip drops of experiences
make up
the rain of our reality.

Lewis River Park, Battleground, Clark County, Washington

Details on Details, Zoom In

The endless treasures of the everyday,
the uncommonness of common things;
Ordinary mind does point the way
to unspoken wonders of myriad beings.

Whether a leaf, the moon, a plastic spoon,
or a shoe, an eye, an infant's cry;
the endless parade, zoom out, in zoom,
Details on details, thick, piled high.

Cellular seedpods pulsing pure time,
Flowering brains clone families of minds
that revel in thinking to the Infinite edge,
agog over life, and love of knowledge.

Whether, a quasar, a hand, a DNA strand,
Fantastic journeys in the Minds of Man.

Place, Setting, Location:
Vancouver,
Clark County,
Columbia River Valley,
Washington,
2017-2025

Coming In June 2025

Awakening: Wednesday, 2/5/2025, 3:33 am

From the depths of my restless shallow sleep
My crusty eyes fluttered and blinked so slow
My fine dream scenes disappeared like snow
Melting on Rem Mountains wide and steep

I tried to remember those passing fancies
those jumbled meandering dreamlike flashes
those jerks and shudders over things fantastic
those jagged memories flowing fast

I stirred and stretched and opened my eyes
my mouth was a cotton ball of spit all dry
my back ached again on that damn left side
the bed creaked as I shifted where I lie

Too early to get up, turn on the lights, and read?
Or, fall back asleep, and birth more dream seeds?

Cloud Hands Blog

Bundled Up: Tanka Poetry

Quotes for Gardeners

Zen Poetry

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

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