Haiku Wednesday

A weekly poetry project

I used to do this thing called Haiku Wednesday. It involved writing haiku. On Wednesdays.

In truth, the Facebook group that hosted this project was focused on having midweek fun with the 5-7-5. They weren't so concerned with tapping into the spirit of haiku. It was an anything-goes community. Still, at a time when I wasn't doing much original writing, I appreciated the weekly commitment and the syllable constraint. Sometimes I produced small snapshots of my day; other times I would string several "haiku" together to create a longer poem. It has become a practice I still return to when I'm feeling uninspired.

Here's a small selection from 2011–2012.

Perth Amboy smells like
petroleum and grapevines:
spring of eighty-nine

teenage fireworks
seen through the trees, background sparks,
foreground lightning bugs

coffeeshop ceiling—
stamped burlap bags hang down, frayed
fair trade church banners

he drove off—outside
I walk on burrs and dirty
magnolia petals

mint gum, cigarettes—
fog rolling off the creek—
your love or your words

indigo with slate
bay clouds, the Sayreville moon
blue-white, true, home sky

broken shells, the beach
at dawn, the Parkway bridge arcs,
the streetlights like pearls

miles and hours gone,
the Shenandoah hills rise
and fall in my chest

haiku and moonlight
cut through clouds in the Blue Ridge
Mountains: midnight lines

beside still waters
gnats fill the air like floating
poppy seeds, like dreams