Cuttings: March
Haiku, Short Poems, Concrete Poems, Tercets
Winter and Spring Season
1998 - 2025
By Mike Garofalo
Equinox—
shadows
half-way to summer
Darkness and trees dividing the great sky
the roaring winds scour the valley floor.
The evening is cold, and beyond the drizzling rain
through twisting clouds, a moon immaculate."
[With a thank you to Ishikawa Jozan]
girls
dress their dolls—
willows leaf out.
Northbound train
rumbles by—
howling dog
leaning over
stirring soup—
hot and sour smells
Cheering the Yanks
kicking ass in Saddam's Iraq—
Relapse from that 9/11 Osama flu.
Long storm
stopped. Suddenly— Shasta,
three miles high.
regrets
replayed—
another gloomy day
my world crushed
between skull and brain—
migraine
Time is one apricot blossom.
Space, a bee.
The Universe, honey.
And, the Goddess of Spring?
flushed purple
redbud shrubs—
creeks gushing
he ripped up
their picture—
withered pear blossoms
Reading Beowulf
for eight graders—
a thousand years fly by.
gently rubbing
sleepy eyes—
snowflakes
every Inch of ground
green—
midday in March
Wearing
their team colors—
Ash Wednesday.
God's Hand tossed on the lawn,
Right-Wing Guards in the White House,
Patriots on speed, unable to weep,
Americans raped as they sleep.
Baghdad:
two armies
Sweating!
Mockingbirds
singing love tunes—
voices of dying winter.
shadowless dusk
growing colder—
squealing teakettle
from dark trees
an owl's hoot—
chilly night.
New Men
peaceful and giving;
in them, He lives.
Sincere Silence
heads bowed ...
Amen!
Joyful
Embracing the Inevitable—
Deepening Spirituality ...
untouched, dusty
Bible on the shelf
no chanting
no Temple bells—
wind chimes swaying
branches in blossom
shake to the rhythms of wind—
bees on rosemary
twigless
pecan stick—
working underground
Midnight—
Counting Crows
to stay awake
Alive with bees ...
radiant pink
peach blossoms.
fruitless
lawn tree,
full of flowers
dark barn—
a ray of light
from roof to floor
Cuttings: Haiku
green beyond green—
below gray skies
brilliant forsythias
a few flecks
of yellow—
forsythias awakening
Snowcapped peaks
in three directions—
wet green valley.
Evil grins, a damn cruel devil,
Gold toothed, slobbering blood,
Shouting louder, louder, shrill
Until his belly is filled
And the stench of millions dead
Pleases his maniacal will.
Redding at sunset:
mauve rain clouds
mountains of shadows.
The plop of shit
down the outhouse hole—
no paper.
daylight and darkness
Spring
balanced
Shifting around
from ass cheek to cheek—
a long night class.
out of gas—
watching cars
woosh past
Stumbling over words
in an eruption of mind;
deepening stroke.
Gathering dust—
an iron Buddha
just sitting
An empty black hearse
leaving the cemetery;
one gold coffin alone.
You can sometimes
get a handle on life,
but it often breaks.
cellphone
rings—
selling things
soft pillow—
sleepy
tired eyes
giving back—
eye for eye
tit for tat
battered boards
twisted still—
fallen barn
empty chairs
for Sunday supper;
children married
long walk over—
my panting dog
still playing
satisfying
cold water
swallowed
paper lantern reflected
in soup bowl
oils
uncounted grasses
Erect
excited by the sun
Upstart mustard-greens
Old guard forsythias ...
Yellow riot.
Her growling snore;
bouncing silence
off the walls.
Bald head,
fallen manhood;
a half-million hours
true to form.
Looking up, dark outside,
Reflections in the window,
a duplicate room with me
Looking back, lighted inside,
Sitting still reflecting.
largest organ
our skin—
bruised shin
Lakshmi provides
prosperity—
Kali ignores poverty
trilobite fossils
fascinate me—
living beings mineralized
drifting asleep ...
myoclonic jerk—
sprung open my eyes
could not recall
familiar names—
scary moments
In general, be more specific.
To put a bigger hat on an idea—
Capitalize its Key Words.
"Mas o menos" is often quite sufficient.
a homeless man shivers—
home of the free
land of the hungry
A poet of yore
whispers to us—
gently turning pages.
Weary and worried
looking for a job;
a broken man cries.
back when
that was then ...
fading as they die
We look up ...
cut by cold winds,
snow capped Shasta-Bollys.
One week later
Six Directions of Green
Billions of leaf-buds
brilliant yellow
border of daffodils
behind barbed wire
soaked cattlepen
layered deep with shit—
reeking downwind
After two winters—
the heifer now a cow
suckles her clumsy calf
field fogs settle—
downward heads of nibbling cattle
grazing the wet earth
the cow's hide
glowed—
polishing shoes
Thoughtless about their own demise
Black Angus graze, heads bowed,
Unafraid of Farmer John's eyes.
Vaqueros now ride their Fords
bouncing along, dust behind,
Thinking of carne asada for suppertime.
one line
obituary—
John Doe
rain pelting down
umbrellas drying inside
—opened the cafe menu
Swaying branches
play the wind—
falling twigs
yellow narcissus
first to spring ...
uplifting scene
Tired of arguing—
walked alone
silently
child cries
overtime—
alone in the dark
he preached solutions
for everything ...
weak stand up comedy
When the Divine knocks,
don't send a Prophet
to open the door.
journaling daily
passing time—
forgotten memories
no fig blossoms—
exceptions
to every rule
freezing hours
stones cold
painful bones
When life give you
lemons, your probably
also out of sugar.
Planting bare root trees
is a paradigm case of
optimism.
Becoming invisible
to oneself—
a pure act of gardening.
Reading Neruda—
without the translators
my Spanish inadequate
The flu
took her life—
a sharp COVID knife
pine log
smoking—
wet cough
March—
camellias withering
pink petals fall
laughing
with her—
reading horoscopes
daughters of daughters
regathering—
grandma's funeral
salty echoes
in our ears—
seashells
pizza for lunch:
a middle school
tautology
Settings, Place, Environment
Red Bluff, Tehama County,
North Sacramento Valley,
California, 1998-2017
Vancouver, Clark County,
Columbia River Valley,
Washington State, 2017-2025
Workingman's Blues:
5:55 am
Monday Morning
Daydreaming about a seaside walk,
driving to work
an average fellow
eschewing poverty and loneliness
returning to work on payday
killdeers shrieking
meadowlarks trilling—
sunlight breaks the cold silence
One's core fantasies
priming the pump—
gushing passions ...
his karma
caught up with him—
she left him tonight
Lawn mowed low,
sweeping the sidewalks—
breezy ... dry day;
sweeping the dusty porch,
sipping brandy in the shade—
sweeping worried words from my lips.
winter sunshine
working in the garden
sunburnt bald head
warm sun
dry grass
roaring lawnmower
sunlight breaks
cold silence—
a meadowlark trills
Snakes nowhere seen ...
very cold
St. Patrick's Day.
moving conversations
down gravel roadways ...
crisscrossing ideas
Barefoot girls in the creek bed
laughing winter away—
redbuds on bare black branches.
day by day
winter disappears ...
millions of new leaves
bloodied corpse
under a sheet—
traffic slows
blue oaks
leafed out—
robins return
Springing over
wet wild grass
my charging dog.
microwave tower
blinking all night—
invisible voices
wet boots
drying on the porch—
a day's work done
Closing his journals in the blue covers of pain.
Twisted up inside, rotting karma; himself to blame.
Harshly, utterly, darkly ... ashamed.
Yada, yada, yada ...
the sage on the stage—
scattered applause.
The ancient stone Buddhas at Bamiyan
Now piles of rubble in Afghanistan;
Blown up by the Islamic Taliban
Ranting about Allah's stricter demands.
Cheering as they blew off the Buddha's hands;
Those arrogant and artless Taliban,
Purifying their homeland, dynamite in hand.
Who's next in their callous Jihadi plans?
Besides those starving in their bone dry land
The monuments of those infidel Americans?
The Twin Towers gleaming in the Devil's Land?
The Taliban Destroyed
the Stone Buddha's at Bamiyan,
11 March 2001.
Big statues or little statues,
Even no statue of any kind,
Really hardly matters a twit,
To those awakened to the Buddha Mind.
never ever Simple—
simplifying or
simplicity
history books
unopened—
American minds
open gate
saluting
daybreak
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
broken truck
stuck—
wallet empty
eyes horizontal
nose vertical—
my mind stood Up
side
d
o
w
n
| Months and Seasons Quotes, Poems, Sayings, Verses, Lore, Myths, Holidays Celebrations, Folklore, Reading, Links, Quotations Information, Weather, Gardening Chores Compiled by Mike Garofalo |
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Copyrighted © 1998-2025 by Michael P. Garofalo.
Green Way Research
All rights reserved
Cuttings: March, Winter, Spring
Haiku, Concrete and Short Poems by Michael P. Garofalo
First Distributed on the Internet WWW in September 1999
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
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
This document was last edited, revised,
reformatted, added to, relinked,
changed, improved, or modified
by Mike Garofalo
on March 27, 2025.