Beehive of Conflicting Emotions

My head buzzing 
Over the latest crazed 
Talk of imminent war, I try 
To forget by spending 
A good part of the morning 
Under the shelter 
Of our Judas tree, 
Taking in the inebriated 
Bees as they bomb cluster 
After cluster of deep pink 
Flowers —I know 
It makes no sense 
Whatsoever but I hope 
The bees don’t start 
Making a beeline 
For the wine cellar. 

Evensong: A Time for Reaping

violet- 

blue- 


black 

mountains 


cradle 

up- 


side 

down 


bloody 

orange 


waxing 

sickle, 


verily my cup 

runneth over— 


tea, anyone? 

"Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is"

How many times 
Have you heard this 

Priceless one and gone 
Out of your way 

To sell your wares cheap, 
Craftsman? 

Hocus-Pocus Habeas Corpus

You owed it to yourself 
But nothing yet of note 
To warrant a poem today— 

Like Bulldog Drummond hot 
On the trail, time to back- 
Track to where you lost 

The right to have writ 
Something whose smell won’t 
Soon go away. 

1960s West Coast Underground Haiku Poets Society

Real people writing 
Real poetry, you know that’s 

Uh, like man, surreal.