haiku 11 p.m.

two black flies buzzing
about the white cube of light
within the lampshade


A Poem by Richard Wilbur

I have never reprinted another’s work here, but this moved me so, a poem constructed in the form of 5 haiku stanzas by Richard Wilbur, published in The New Yorker in 2008. 


This yellow striped green
Caterpillar, climbing up
The steep window screen,

Constantly (for lack
Of a full set of legs) keeps
Humping up his back.

It’s as if he sent
By a sort of semaphore
Dark omegas meant

To warn of Last Things.
Although he doesn’t know it,
He will soon have wings,

And I, too, don’t know
Toward what undreamt condition
Inch by inch I go.

10 July* Haiku

south of Covington
place names like stage directions —
Crystal Falls, Spread Eagle

a wild turkey hen
with eleven little poults —
get off the damn road

snake, a long muscle,
a twitching in the tall grass,
I want to bite you!

late June thunderstorm
blowing like a hurricane
r  u  o  k  jo?

Jim Morrison is
a perfect anagram for
Mr. Mojo Risin’

Waldo Canyon Fire
45% contained
smoke beneath Pike’s Peak

Poonac is a dog
who appears too dumb to be
useful, or a boat

you are my flower
pale, verging on translucent,
blushing in the sun

deep blue sky above
red car for sale on green lawn
north to Michigan

fill me up, my God,
in the place I am empty,
joy overflowing