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Seventeen haiku by Andrew Hamlin
The fact of flies on ferns
Heat of the blanket,
cool of the pillow...
long sun
Low sun...
the fact of flies
on ferns
Two thumbs
to the weave of the sock...
cold sun
Cap and gown,
she boards the bus...
by the bums
Birdsong...
squawk anxious
at the fire engine
In twilight
I become...
the crow’s caw
“Flag Day”
reads my phone...
unassuming
The night...rich...
the tide, stolen half
of the wind
A broken heart...
and a little girl
with a stuffed seal
Broken
down; green bow
on her backpack
Spring,
curly red hair—
overhead catch
Cold room
cannot quell...
lilies in a pot
Pond...
frog plop scrambles
summer moon
Bus glass, low sun...
“Exit” backwards
on her skin
Pigeon,
head-bobs implacable...
tunnel station
Cold breeze...
old man holds out his hand
from the bench
Gnat
at the emperor’s tomb,
expects company
Andrew Hamlin
Andrew Hamlin likes to photograph shoes and write about dog shit. He was born and raised in Seattle, where he resides today. He attended the Evergreen State College, where he wrote and edited arts coverage for the Cooper Point Journal. He is the film critic for the Northwest Asian Weekly, and he’s published arts coverage and criticism in the San Diego Reader, Village Voice, Seattle Times, Seattle Weekly, Goldmine, and other publications. He misses Helen Wiggin. Hamlin’s website is www.andrewhamlin.org.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Seventeen haiku by Andrew Hamlin
The fact of flies on ferns
Seventeen haiku by Andrew Hamlin
The fact of flies on ferns
Heat of the blanket,
cool of the pillow...
long sun
Low sun...
the fact of flies
on ferns
Two thumbs
to the weave of the sock...
cold sun
Cap and gown,
she boards the bus...
by the bums
Birdsong...
squawk anxious
at the fire engine
In twilight
I become...
the crow’s caw
“Flag Day”
reads my phone...
unassuming
The night...rich...
the tide, stolen half
of the wind
A broken heart...
and a little girl
with a stuffed seal
Broken
down; green bow
on her backpack
Spring,
curly red hair—
overhead catch
Cold room
cannot quell...
lilies in a pot
Pond...
frog plop scrambles
summer moon
Bus glass, low sun...
“Exit” backwards
on her skin
Pigeon,
head-bobs implacable...
tunnel station
Cold breeze...
old man holds out his hand
from the bench
Gnat
at the emperor’s tomb,
expects company
Andrew Hamlin
Andrew Hamlin likes to photograph shoes and write about dog shit. He was born and raised in Seattle, where he resides today. He attended the Evergreen State College, where he wrote and edited arts coverage for the Cooper Point Journal. He is the film critic for the Northwest Asian Weekly, and he’s published arts coverage and criticism in the San Diego Reader, Village Voice, Seattle Times, Seattle Weekly, Goldmine, and other publications. He misses Helen Wiggin. Hamlin’s website is www.andrewhamlin.org.
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