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Lee Gurga's Haiku
morning
twilight . . .
horse asleep in the pasture
covered with frost
morning calm
. . .
heavy with frost the leaves
continue to fall
winter
prairie
a diesel locomotive
throttles down in the night
frozen
branches
measure the emptiness
winter sunset
snowbound
firelight on the face
of the sleeping boy
Christmas
blizzard
everything white
except his cheeks
fresh scent
the labrador's muzzle
deeper into snow
his
side of it.
her side of it.
winter silence
Christmas
pageant
the one who had to get married
plays virgin Mary
another
Christmas . . .
my parents visit
the son in prison
horse
slobber
frozen to my coveralls
New Year's Eve
while
you sleep
the gentle rocking
of the night train
head
down to the grass,
the young colt's flaxen tail
swatting . . . swatting
. . .
class
reunion
with my old girlfriend
her girlfriend
wedding
picture:
each face finds
a different camera
20th
anniversary
doing sit—ups together
in perfect time
on
the second day
I buy a deck of cards
spring rain
fishermen's cars
parked along the roadside
cold rain at sunset
spring
horse auction
a cluster of Amishmen whispering
through their beards
Sunday
afternoon
asking his father the name
of every flower
a
spot of sunlight
on a blade of grass the dragonfly
changes its grip
dry
riverbed
great blue heron in a puddle
staring back at me
against
the rumbling
of the thunderhead:
his toy gun
rotted
stump
brown pint bottle
still hidden inside
restored prairie . . .
where the grasses end
the prison's outer fence
rows
of corn
stretch to the horizon
sun on the thunderhead
fluttering
madly
butterfly in the slipstream
of a passing freight
closing-out
auction
the farmer clenches the muscles
in his cheek
the
end
of moving day;
dogs barking
long
walk alone
a tattered goldenrod
covered with dust
rural
interstate
all the other cars
exit together
abandoned
still
broken mason jars
sparkle in the moss
wild geese
writing a wordless message
on the autumn sky
trying the old pump a mouse pours out
the
dog runs ahead
old roadbed through the forest
deep with leaves
the
end of my lane
I open the sagging gate
to autumn sunset
silent
prayer
the quiet humming
of the ceiling fan
graduation
day
my son & I side by side
knotting our ties
figure
drawing class ——
in the model's deepest shadows
a stark white
string
fall leaves the trees the winter sky
farm
dog calling
calling to its echo
deep in the forest
bales
of hay
dot the bluestem meadow—
morning breeze
a
bike in the grass
one wheel slowly turning—
summer afternoon
pine
shade—
the wooden bench
worn smooth
mountain cherry—
from branch to branch
the photographer
two little boys
paddling like mad—
the beached canoe
professional
conference—
in the restroom all the dentists
washing their hands
candlelight
dinner—
his finger slowly circles
the rim of his glass
scenic
overlook
the whole Mississippi valley
hidden in mist
exploring
the cave…
my son's flashlight beam
disappears ahead
summer
sunset—
the baby finds his shadow
on the kitchen wall
last
bale of hay—
we sit down on it
and watch the moon
after
chickadee
stillness
the
smell of the iron
as I come down the stairs
winter evening
from
house
to barn:
the milky way
what
is
he
thinking
?
the
mouse
whose
head
is
inside
the
kingsnake's
mouth
"Happy"
"Mother's"
"Day"
at
last
her
favorite
son
released
from
prison
sunny
saturday
morning
"I"
"don't"
"do"
"that"
"for"
"everyone"
"you"
"know"
frosty
morning --
a snail stretches out
into the sun
his
room empty now ...
in the distance, points of the light
on the interstate
summer
dawn --
the curve of your body
under the sheets
postal
chess --
he moves me
from his cell
our
tangled bodies
motionless in the bed;
coffee brewing
from
the tall weeds
the smell of something dead --
atutmn afternoon
now
that you've left,
your side of the bed covered
with open books
I
read
she reads
winter evening
street
magician—
tourists appear
disappear
"There’s
the comet…"
the little boy watches
his father’s breath
Television
light
Flickers on my children’s faces—
Autumn sunset
summer
afternoon
a pair of glasses
resting on an open book
afternoon
sun—
squirrel on a slab of snow
sliding down the roof
night
sounds…
I put another blanket
on the sleeping boy
the
ticking of sleet
on the bedroom window;
your hand
gathers
me
opossum
bones
wedged in an upper fork
budding leaves
summer
morning—
a withered bluebell
loggers left behind
my
dream
awakens me
I wake you
summer
sunrise
through morning haze
a bobwhite calls again
winter
coming on
a man hitchiking south
in his wheelchair
white-haired
nun
in German still
her childhood prayers
first
snow
little boy laughing
in his sleep
The
sound of rain
moving through the wheatstubble;
a night of love
first
feeding
smelling her milk
the black cat
summer
grasses
a clutch of mottled eggs
slowly stirring
fresh
mown hay
half a prairie kingsnake
in afternoon sun
grandma's
funeral
shaking hands with the cousins
I don't remember
arc
of a rubberband
back and forth across the room;
winter evening
parading
the stallion
all eyes on
his dingling member
sultry
afternoon
a tick on the dog's ear
filling with blood
four
or five turkeys
roosting in a leafless tree
winter evening
Christmas
morning
bird dog in the stubblefield
chasing sparrows
frozen
ground
with every step
the thorn
summer
afternoon
the name of some town
spelled out in flowers
Amish
waitress
black dress stretching down
to her Reeboks
moonrise
sagging bales black
to the meadow's end
cutting
posts
the sizzle of sleet
on the chainsaw housing
as
the light fails,
still hammering
from the treehouse
storm
windows
stacked against the house
spring sunset
lawn
furniture
without any cushions
cherries leafing out
a
little boy
alone in the ripening wheat
hazy moon
hidden
waterfall
they come to see
why we're not speaking
chopping
out stumps
the old boundary dispute
with every stroke
still
water
reflects the sky
I begin to forget
pushing
in walnuts
with my heel
autumn rain
blackberry
picking
the first breath of morning
in the cottonwood tops
the
sky black with stars
coyote tracks up and down
the frozen creek
a
duck swimming
in the cattle pen
spring rain
blast
of wind
flattens the roadside grass
hitchhiker on her suitcase
summer
harbor
each boat pointing
to the storm
the
liquid movement
of the raccoon's eyes:
filled with maggots
running
with the car
the black tip of the dog's tail
through knee-high corn
legs
pawing
in the summer windmonarch
in the wiper blade
midday
sun
butterflies flutter about
the peeing boy
school
bus gone;
the old cedar
in & out of fog
Christmas
morning
we wake up holding
each other's hand
on
nipple
against the white cotton
dark halo of milk
winter
sun begins
to warm the steering wheel
prison visit day
Visitor's
Room
everything bolted down
except my brother
spit
on the whetstone
the little boy tests an edge
on the birthday knife
call
after call.
finally, my six yeas-old's
"Lee Gurga!"
tourist
motel
the pattern of the bedspread
on your cheek
hair
stubble
on the deodorant stick:
the heat
birthday
shopping
into the dress she loves
her daughter's hips
home
from a date
my roommate's underwear
now inside out
the
philosophic drunk
finally runs out of gas
cicadas
after
my walk:
a perfect spiderweb
stuck to my glasses
everyone
asleep
expect the one sleeping alone
distant train whistles
sweat
steaming
from a team of geldings;
endless stars
snow-packed
roads
the wind blows through
a stripped Camaro
cold
drizzle
a puff of diesel smoke
rises from the freight
autumn
rain
old man's furniture
in the pickup
Thanksgiving
Day
the whole family silent
watching a football game
country
stop sign
the pink glow of sunset
through .22 holes
boy
shooting baskets
deep snow piled
all around him
Transfiguration
candle flames bend and rise
with the church's breath
dozing
off
one hand on your skin
and on your silk
drakness
before dawn
the way your legs sleep
not closed not open
morning
mist
the soft brown eye
of the suckling calf
bitter
morning
I move the injured puppy
into the sun
fresh-baled
hay
cutting the twine
to let the snake go
moon
gazing
the dog keeps trying
to lead us away
spring
rain
stepping over barbed wire
into the woods
weekend
with their dad
the boys go deeper
into the mountain
two boys the last pile of dirty snow
http://www.family—net.net/~brooksbooks/gurga.html
http://www.family—net.net/~brooksbooks/gurgaselected.html
http://www.family—net.net/~brooksbooks/batz/author.html
http://www.family—net.net/~brooksbooks/batz/whatishaiku.html
http://www.family—net.net/~brooksbooks/batz/
http://www.millikin.edu/haiku/writerprofiles/KirchgesnerOnGurga.html
http://www.millikin.edu/haiku/writerprofiles/MeyerOnGurga.html
http://www.millikin.edu/haiku/research/WelchGurga.html
http://www.worldhaikureview.org/1—2/vintage_gurga_8_0.shtml
http://www.tempslibres.org/tl/fr/nlect/idxnlect.html
http://www.tempslibres.org/tl/fr/livres/fscent00.html