F Miscellany

The following miscellaneous “Haiku from Index Cards” all start with the letter F.

fading light—

I pop a kelp bladder

for my absent son

             (written 2012, published 2014)

fading thunder . . .

the shadow of my pen

on the crossword

             (written 1996, published 2000; see “Cabinet of Curiosities” sequence)

fallen sparrow—

a dusting of snow

slightly melted

             (written 2017, published 2022; see “Cabinet of Curiosities” sequence)

family dinner—

my son asks if Japan

has alphabet soup

             (written 2008, published 2020)

family reunion—

the baby’s fingers closing

on a cherry petal

             (written 2014, published 2023)

family reunion—

the camera’s timer

goes off too soon

             (written 2006, published 2016)

fear of miscarriage               end of war

             (written 2003, published 2003; see “Moving Day” trifold)

ferry breeze—

I show the tourists

the photo I took

             (written 2011, published 2017)

finding them by touch

under the paisley couch . . .

newborn kittens

             (written 2007, published 2020)

fire-charred fence—

the neighbour’s dog

half way underneath

             (written 1998, published 2021; see “Smouldering” rengay)

firelight   in and out of tinsel

             (written 1993, published 1995; see “Angels We Have Heard On High” sequence)

fireworks over . . .

a translucent jellyfish

lit by the moon

             (written 2008, published 2017)

first Christmas—

our baby sleeps through

the unwrapping of his gifts

             (written 2003, published 2006)

first date       our talk about chaos theory

             (written 2012, published 2021)

first Father’s Day—

she buys me

baby clothes

             (written 2003, published 2018)

first flakes . . .

the curve

                 of the snowgoose’s neck

             (written 1992, published 1995)

first rose—

my toddler’s breath

parting the petals

             (written 2006, published 2019; see “My Poems in Haiku Society of America Anthologies”)

first snow—

a single candle burns

on the mahogany pulpit

             (written 2002, published 2020; see “The Heft of Haiku,” with a Japanese translation)

first snow—

the random tracks

of Canada geese

             (written 1992, published 1997)

first trimester—

the stack of pregnancy books

getting larger

             (written 2003, published 2004; see “Expecting” sequence and “Moving Day” trifold)

fish and chips

warming my hands

with yesterday’s newspaper

             (written 2020, published 2021; see “Yesterday’s News” rengay; also, compare this poem with the following one, written sixteen years earlier)

fish and chips—

yesterday’s newspaper

wet with vinegar

             (written 2004, published 2015; see “All the News” rengay)

forever stamps saved

    for my letters

        to poets

             (written 1993, published 2016)

flu shot—

flash of the needle

stops my sneeze

             (written 1995, published 2000)

foggy night—

sparks from a tossed cigarette

scatter on the freeway

             (written 2003, published 2006)

fog on the window—

the studio artist draws

her breath

             (written 2013, published 2023; see “Cabinet of Curiosities” sequence)

follow me follow me—

the coyote gives voice

to the painted desert

             (written 2019, published 2022)

foreclosure—

the skull of something

in the crawlspace

             (written 2013, published 2016)

fortieth birthday—

I used to think nothing

of taking off my socks

             (written 2002, published 2008)

for you going

for me going

two urinals

             (written 2002, published 2007; see “Parodies, Homages, Allusions”)

found in the attic,

granddad’s pocket watch

ticks once in my hand

             (written 1997, published 1998)

found in the fire-proof box,

love letters

between the two women

             (written 1992, published 1995)

fox on the trail—

your hand held up

to my chest

             (written 2012, published 2015)

free checking—

the pen chained

to the counter

             (written 2012, published 2013)

fresh snow on the mat—

the shape of welcome

still visible

             (written 1991, published 1992; see “First Snow” sequence and “Holiday Haiku”)

fresh sourdough . . .

even in San Francisco

I long for San Francisco

             (written 2024, published 2024; see “Parodies, Homages, Allusions”)

fresh web—

cows in the pasture

upside-down in dewdrops

             (written 1996, published 1999)

from the ocean

                            to her moat

a bucket mostly spilled

             (written 2004, published 2015)

from the smoking section

to the nonsmoking section,

cigarette smoke

             (written 1992, published 2000; remember those days?)

frost on the pumpkin—

the mail today

      arrives early

             (written 1994, published 2000)

frozen river—

the hockey game called

on account of dinner

             (written 2013, published 2023)

funeral procession—

a classic Harley

with an empty sidecar

             (written 2022, published 2023)