WINTER: haiku & tanka

Tanka for Shayna

In winter, I grin 

a rictus. Grimace. Poor play 

at feeling, motion,

breath. Rag stuffed, I shift my bones,

I smile. Do I convince you?

Tanka for Geoffrey

1.

 It’s winter here: gray skies, 
rain. Blackbirds fly up, red wings
flash bright: a kindness.
My friend’s words, candle-warm, 
A witness: we will see spring.

2.

A winter friend: bright

as a candle after dark.

A heavy heart holds 

light close, hand-cupped and cherished—

small flames tethers through the night. 

Haiku & Tanka: January 2026

Unkind winter: us

upon it, grasping. Angry.

Frightened: and what spring?

Warm winter cut through 

with cruel storms. Kinder than men

whose hands clutch power. 

Flock of brown sparrows

intent on seeds. Who feeds us

fat on lies? Starved for truth, 

we gobble propaganda,

each meal worse. Oh, feed us!

Gray sky, blackbird flies

Bright flash of red uncovered.

Joy, always, brief and bright.

A sparrow flock lights

on my feeder: plump huddle,

bundled, chatting. I'll

eat, gossip, live. too. Feathers

fluffed, I'll stay for spring with you.

a lament, a prayer (rework)

 You hear, you see, you reign, and you will judge.

When men oppress the least of these, 

these little birds you made:

You hear, you see, you reign, and you will judge.

When nations rest at ease, feast on fat meat, sit

on the bones of these sweet birds and say

"Peace! Peace!" (knowing, they think, 

bones cannot speak):

You hear, you see, you reign, and you will judge.

When little, brittle birds, untended, limp

to spend our pennies on small sins:

You hear, you see, you reign, and you will judge.

When proud men preen, and vomit lies, and call it truth,

when fools leap up like dogs to lick their spew:

You hear, you see, you reign, and you will judge.

When greedy priests would weave another veil

between your spirit's power, and their flocks,

Or teach their sheep to heap self righteousness 

around their hurts like dragon hoards,

Or walk in judgment, blinded by white boards

of painted over shame they dare not see:

You hear, you see, you reign, and you will judge.

And when we, still, step on your children's backs

(as if on insects: unlovely and uncounted)

to keep our ease–To keep our ease!: 

You hear, you see, you reign, and you will judge.

You who sees us: have mercy: judge.

the earth is holding them

i am holding them: all their bones,

the ones you buried. 

i keep them: not like secrets, 

but like saints:

enfold their bones 

in roots and webs, 

in beetles, bright as jewels.

Each name you will not speak

i keep

and cherish

and when their names are called 

i will unfold them,

slick with blood

and thick with tears.

Heap up your might while you can,

and your pride: 

that mountain cannot bear the weight

i, tender, hold:

their names shall all be told,

are told,

are cherished.

Each one weighed against your soul. 

a sonnet, an invitation

No more wandering. I'll wrap your feet in clay--

wind roots around your ankles, till you stay

your restless dancing. Till you dance

here, with me. Until you rest. Each day

with me. Lay with me, down: over us the soil

a coverlet: soft, bundled against toil.

Rest, dear. I'll wind up every lovely sense

of yours in dirt--send little worms to coil

(to swap your eyes, your lips, your tongue--

all your softnesses). To sate them. So long

you wandered, restless. Be here. Lay

down now, darling. Let others seek and dance:

Darling, let go each starveling sense.

I'll hold you, root you, cover you, love. Stay. 

requiescat

God grant you in death more mercy than you ever held in your mouth.

May the souls of children walk you to your rest,

may you not rest until you have put your fingers into every bullet hole that laid them down too young.

May every step to heaven burn your feet.

May you carry every lie you ever spoke, like heavy stones.

May the young men you swayed hang from your neck like chains.

May you drink grief before you let them go.

The grief is mercy. 

May you be granted to serve at the feet of dark skinned saints and know it grace.

May your children be raised by better men than you.

May they receive the empathy you scorned.

May they grow up kind and good.

May they dream a better kingdom than you preached.

May no one triumph at their death.

blues in july

These days i'm blue 

as that slim slash of scales 

on a swallowtail's black wing. 

Blue

electric, metallic: a dragonfly

that darts and hovers, darts. 

Blue

 

sparks like the sharp gloss 

off a beetle's slick black back

in sunlight. 

Blue

sky, no ruthful clouds just 

sheer bright space. Sun pressing down

till garden plants turn brittle, brown.

That kind of blue.

hand over mouth

I have no hope, but I will speak, Job said.

I will break my teeth on this world,

and spit the bloody chips out in your face,

you who made this, you who made us

for all these good gifts you gave us. 

I have this faith: 

to come to you, to hold out my fist full

of hot rage, to say

this is no justice,

to open my fist up in your face

if you will not be just, we have no justice

if you will not be tender, we have no tenderness

if you will not hear us, we have no hope

the world will not bear the weight of us,

of all this wickedness

done upon us, and by us: it's

too many graves to count

these days, these days, these days.

Do you count them, God,

these graves?