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Jane Rechhold's Haiku
http://www.ahapoetry.com/haiku.htm
http://www.wowwi.orc.ru/cgi-bin/original_show.cgi?author=Jane%20Reichhold
a bit of sky
pushed aside
the new house
a
camera's flash
long after the eyes close
in old photographs
a
full moon
resting on hoary-frost meadows
tundra swans
a
huge wave
thundering across the beach
my birthday
a
kite
raising from sea mists
rainbow colors
a
little spilled wine
ageless women in the circle
of a full moon
a
love affair
building a fire
in a strange stove
a
new calendar
my unlived days
already numbered
a
new year
rising from wild seas
a few stars
a
pile of cards
the inner glow of lights
in a crystal
a
shower of diamonds
my birthday gift
from a snowy branch
a
son's call
white waves of long distance
returning to shore
a
south wind
polishing my face clean
for this journey
a
summer breeze
rises over the sea cliff
pulled by a kite
a
time of beaches
abalone shells and lovers
without memories
a
vegetarian
with legs crossed in zazen
the roasting chicken
a
wall of water
curves and crashes
a whale
a
watch
left out in the rain
timeless
a
yellow cat
stalking the coward
in the mirror
abandoned
theater
the moon spotlights
a frog-prince
above
the
dialysis machine
a withered plant
above
flying seas
a swarm of black birds
in spindrift
above
the snow
at the level of bird song
spring begins
across
the canyon
the neighbor hammers
on an echo
after
lovemaking
all is quiet until
rain begins again
after
lovemaking
hail falls between us
she buttons her blouse
after
the shower
the smell of pine soap
in the forest
after
the solstice
cleaning the house
trimming wicks
afternoon
boredom
the woman ties shells
on her straw hat
afternoon
rain
into my sleep
your pencil moves
air
of rain
filled with drops
of bird song
All
Saints' Day
filling the pumpkin's eyes
with raindrops
All
Saints' Day
goblins and witches baptized
with holy names
All
Saints' Day
pumpkin-grin fangs
gone with the werewolf
All
Saints' Day
the Jack-o-lantern
full of gnats
All
Saints' Day
the moldy pumpkin
grins with a harelip
All
Souls' Day
the end table
bow-legged
alone
but
not alone
the sun - the moon
alone
going
to sleep with a grin
on the pumpkin
along
with rain
going down the mountain
to the sea
an
altar candle
lit for your soul journey
warms my hands
an
old friend
chinkapin burrs open
on smooth fruits
an
old sea crone
remembering mermaid tales
as true
an
old woman
buying a balloon
the last one
an
old woman
carrying a balloon
huffs and puffs
an
old woman
the harshness of winter
in her hands
an
open mouth
funeral bells fill
earth gap
anchoring
the light
I let the moon slip
into the sea
ancient
cypress
leaning over the light
at sunrise
ancient
shrine
just a roof
upon the path
antique
mirroring
on TV
gone with the wind
April
snow
black plowed earth
turned to white
April
winds
a birth announcement
in the wrong mail box
arching
into the sky
the wave leaves
more blue
articulate
snoring
sea lions sleep in
conversations
as
people cry
the ocean roars
"no oil wells!"
as
the tide ebbs
fishermen appear
on the sand
asleep
surrounded
by things
that don't
asleep
on the sand
the smell of the sea
in my hand
at
dusk
a hand waves good-bye
he owl's wing
at
the ocean
in your white hand
tears drown
autumn
rain
walking about in stocking feet
tasting the soup
baby's
ancient face
wrinkled and sexless
grandparents
back
home
the bookmark in his bible
does not move
backpack
of books
the schoolboy becomes
a deformed monster
balance
act
with a gust of wind
a crash of bowls
ballet
movies
all night her dreams
tip-toe
be
begin the year
fresh sheets of winter's night
snow
beach
afternoon
school girls drinking
from a paper bag
beach
breakfast
at-home foods taste
of the sea
beach
meditation
alone and then joined
by the sun
beach
meditation
complete with the cold
feet of flies
beach
peace
yet over a flat rock
two seals fight
beach
picnic
between bites
haiku – sand
beach
secrets
where the sunlight hides
the blue in shadows
bee
lines
exciting the air
between flowers
Beethoven's
Fifth
the cat gives birth
to another kitten
before
us
the road flown
by two sea gulls
bells
in
the natal place
a uterus opens
bird
song
eaten by the silence
of a cat
birds
filled
with air
fly into it
birthday
beach walk
wetted by a wave
born again
black
ink
the many poems dye
my hair white
blood
relatives
for thanksgiving dinner
red beets
blushing
a bit
the rising spring sun
on the robin's breast
bodies
buried
and now the house belongs
to someone else
bored
with winter
a beach walk finds
abandoned toys
breakfast
coffee
the excitement of an ocean
in my cup
breathless
climbing
to the pagoda
wind
bridging
the
flooded river
my fears
bubbles
and branches
ice moving
the I Ching hexagram
burial
ground
naked trees
veil the sunrise
buried
here
autumn woods are full
of ancestors
canyon
rim
something in me flies
over precipices
champagne
bubbles
fifty years
up my nose
champagne
sleep
tolling bells ring out
the old year
chapel
hidden
on the ceiling
pagan symbols
Christmas
a
sleigh draws homeward
all my thoughts
clods
from the grave
sweet potatoes piled in a field
join at the fence
clouds
curved
in sea foam
rainbows
clouds
flooding
the river
with spring
clouds
the
sky divided
into puddles
clouds
touching
the sea
with rain
coming
home
flower
by
flower
coming
late
a birthday gift
of sour plums
crossroads
cemetery
the old man asks
the way home
curtains
calico
with
kittens
curve
of the sea
cupping her breasts
cold hands
cut
crystal rainbow
shining where he wanted
to touch her
dark
moon
something moves deep with
a carrot seed
daybreak
the
person you love
is not perfect
Death
Valley
emigrant tombstones
mountain peaks
death
watch
one thread
unravels
desert
death
stretched to the horizon
silence
desiring
you
rain drums
in my ears
doctor's
office
the new mother sings
off key
door
chimes
the spring spider moves
eight legs
doors
to the sea
the pearly gates
of the snail
driftwood
women
at the bar
bleached and scarred
driftwood
lair
lovers hidden from view
found by the wind
dripping
spring
rain and your body
in mine
drought
year
ends with champagne
rain
dusting
the dresser
a gown which shared
our passion
each
white wave
mounts the black rock
differently
early
autumn day
just right for throwing away
old tennis shoes
early
morning rain
the dry sound inside the cabin
of oatmeal cooking
early
spring
only the hoe handle
is warm to touch
earth
each
spot layered
with stories
earth
day
my pencil bounces
as a tree falls
Easter
bunny
leaving a basket
of kittens
Easter
morning mountain
my shadow crosses
Death Valley
eating
out
clinging to my skirt
blanket fuzz
ebbing
tide
on the flat rock
one more seal
edge
of the cliff
the old couple discuss
going home
eggshells
ash bone
the white of the moon
a witch's spell
evening
deepens
the tan on her legs
with vericose veins
eyes
into
eyes
lights
fading
condolence
cards
the sting
faint
shadows
on the earth at eclipse
soap bubbles
falling
down
the mums not picked
because you've gone
falling
from the wreath
frost
flowers
feeling
older
the new calendar doesn't fit
the dirty wall
fifty
years
not remembering which
toothbrush is his
filling
the
glass with candlelight
champagne
first
day of school
her bare foot tracks
still on the beach
first
day of school
on the mountain ridge
clouds without thunder
first
light
damp with the roar
of an incoming tide
flickering
shadows
the way children imitate
ballet dancers on TV
flight
delayed
airport carols
"angels we have heard on high.."
flood
waters
filling on a deserted island
a wine bottle
flooded
river
sides flowing together
lovers touch
flowers
between
you
and the bees
flute
notes
in spirit rocks
answers
for
dad
selling his house
setting a stone
for
sale signs
yet nobody can own
the river
forgetting
where
the family stone
sinks in
freezing
rain
another breakdown
in the dialysis machine
freshly
washed jeans
haiku in the pocket
are also clean
from
afar
a bird's beak opening
the gentle air
from
India
the strange white bird
in a yoga position
gaining
weight
the world thicker
with snow
ghost
town
in an abandoned orchard
fresh apples
giving
the old cat
a dish of cream
mother's day
going
around
the bent woman
at the corner
going
into dark times
children dressed as grown-ups
begging
gone
fishing
the fly-specked sign hangs
from one corner
gradually
warming
the beach sand
the sleep of seals
grandmother
squeezing
on her driver's license
a long name
grandpa
gives
the Jack-o-lantern
his snag-toothed grin
grandson
the
unmade burp
invents a smile
heavy
surf
that sound i heard just before
being born
hello
to the sea
and already my pockets
full of shells
her
long thumbnail
fallow fields lie empty
with snow
high
mountain village
church organ reedy as willows
the noisy brook
high
noon
finally I am warm enough
for flies to sit on me
high
tide
the secret script
of driftwood scraps
high
winds
memories
of flight
his
body a bow
his arrow shot me
full of flowers
his
grave
covered with
my sky
his
grave
filled with
his earth
holy
ground
city folks on the beach
remove their shoes
homecoming
night
autumn rains driving my parents
to the nursing home
hot
flashes
blushes of youth
getting old
how
snugly
this new ice fits
the old pond
howling
tomcats
two old guys discussing
impotence
huckleberry
jam
all the tiredness
up in jars
huddled
on the beach
the sated woman forgets
she is a lady
in
a mirror
her wrinkles do not mar
the smooth surface
in
a mouse nest
one pink nose
on a cat
in
and out
of the river's mouth
a tongue of sea
in
fingers
the sound of a wrist
counting my blood
in
healing waters
stars
old bodies
in
her hands
the old woman's
winter pain
in
one sky
x-ray photos of sea shells
wet wisps of fog
in
rows
bees and his lips
at harmonica holes
in
the photo album
my mother's face
before i knew her
in
the tub
the day before
being born
incoming
tide
bends on the beach
footprints
Indian
country
sign on a winding road
a broken arrow
journeying
spring
clouds blow over
packed suitcases
kite
string
tightly rolled
first day of school
knitting
during
the death watch
a dropped stitch
knitting
to Ohio
these trees
last
day of the year
walking a country lane
to the end of it
last
days
as thin as her skin
loose on bones
last
kiss
her reason to be
so cold
last
of the year
the ferry boat leaves
for another shore
last
sip
bitter taste of earth
in the water
last
warmth of sun
breathing exercises
for menopause nerves
late
afternoon
afraid to take nap
while visiting graves
late
to church
daylight saving
unholy times
leaving
a book
blind hands touch
closed eyes
leaving
the cemetery
sunrise
on frost-cracked soil
lips
take
from the springs
whistling
low
tide
left on the beach
autumn
low
tide weather
salt-stained trouser legs
sandy pockets of air
low-tide
rocks
the sun in a rack of clouds
far out at sea
low-tide
rocks
town folks going home
with few groceries
lunch
time
by the brook
spring-fed
lying
in a river
words of love
in the current
lying
on the beach
arms spread - legs together
a starfish
March
rains
filling the zodiac
with fish
Memorial
Day
the honored guests slept
through the parade
mission
spirits
in swallows and pigeons
birds of paradise
mist
softens
the hills
incoming waves
mom
leaves
the door partly open
her many years
monoliths
shaping
the moonlight
granite
moon
mirror
reflecting a wrinkled face
born the same day
moonlight
moving
with the gate as the servant girl
takes an evening
morning
a touch of sea waves
the moon melts
morning
wetted by the splash
of small waves
morning
magic show
now you see the baby rabbits
now you don't
morning
trees
feeling the woodcutters
coming to work
mossy
rocks
the empty side
of the ocean
Mother's
day
give-away puppies escaping
the banana box
Mother's
Day
giving the old cat
a dish of cream
mountain
echo
I'm older
when I hear it
my
age
spoken four years ago
a younger sound
my
chair
too small for the cat
by a tail and a leg
my
life-
a superabundance of stars
one good eye
my
parents
their breath gone
yet the wind blows
new
teeth
a beach picnic blessed
with sand
New
Year's Day
a wind-blown twig
writing on snow
New
Year's Day
granola breakfast special
with chocolate chips
New
Year's Day
meeting the neighbor's smile
with cold on my teeth
New
Year's Day
no resolutions for me
I've shoveled snow
New
Year's Day
tarnish on the silver mirror
fits
New
Year's Day
waking together
in the dream
New
Year's Eve
on the country porch the sound
of a full moon
New
Year's morning
the first day begins
in the same dream
no
April Fools
these crocus buds closed
against the snow
no
more breath
falling from the vase
a pink rose petal
ocean
fog
fishing boats
in the sky
ocean
fog
in the broken sign
"open"
October
sun
deep in the doorway
deep in the pumpkins
Ohio
roads
so straight
heaven goes down them
Ohio
skies
too wide
for one weather
old
maid's tea
pouring boiling water
on unopened flowers
on
a bridge
a young couple discuss
old lovers
on
the island
no one goes to
driftwood
one
bird
its cry so human
alone
one
ear
listening to the river
wet with rain
open
grave
frost air penetrates
deep into earth
open
grave
the iron shovel lifts
autumn fragrance
open
window
the cat stares into space
as the guru speaks
orgasm
an
explosion of flowers
in wind chimes
out
of the cemetery
the first laugh
a cold wind
outgrowing
its
circle of ice
spring pond
overlooking
the place
where i had my first kiss
the old folks home
overnight
renting
a canoe
and a moon
pacemaker
old
puss purrs
on her chest
panty
hose
she crosses her legs
with whispers
patterns
your
words open
the iris
pencil
a
color of trees
wet with rain
periwinkles
signing
secret names
in wet sand
photographing
the
graves
without film
played
on a harmonium
the old gospel songs
squeeze out tears
protesters
gather
on skateboards and crutches
"no oil rigs here!"
putting
on lipstick
before writing the letter
white-glove lady
quiet
waters
frogs all listening
to my shower
rain
covering
his grave
a soft cloud
rain
idle
fingers strumming
the dulcimer
rain
opening
the window
a light heart
rain
dripping
one hour
into another
rain
drops
a cathedral roof
on the cabin
rain
drops
falling around the bed
her hair pins
rain
erases time
one hour reused
the whole day long
rain
gusts
the electricity goes
on and off
rain
on the roof
wet around us
on the sheets
rain
shower
afterwards he reads to me
all of his poems
recycling
old glass
the rocky beach
jewel-covered
red
knuckles
clay around the cup
of rose hip tea
rented
house
the ocean's roar
in mother's womb
returning
year after year
to this one place
chestnuts and harvesters
ripples
the
lake ear listening
to us
river
ripples
in the tiniest
fish scales
river
valley
letting the sunrise
into the sea
river
winds
flipping white pages
without poems
rocks
twist
the river smoothes
each one
rolling
r's
the voice of the sea
on a rocky beach
run
way
a nail bitten down
to the quick
running
away
from four corners of the roof
patter of rain
Saturday
rain
the desire to buy something
extravagant
sawdust
exciting
the air
with sunlight
saying
goodbye
a salt wind swallows
the words
scattered
among
driftwood
drifters
sea
downs
fog leaving
the view
sea
fog
walking the valley
with empty hands
sea
gulls
soaring above cliffs
freshly painted
sea
lion's mouth
the dawn inside the yawn
salmon pink
seaside
house
in a sunny corner
waves of warmth
she
lifts her head
a tapping at the window
is only rain
sickroom
feeling
the fake formica
flooring
silence
around
the old couple
all their repeated words
silence
between
old folks
no longer breathing
singing
gentle
sounds of rain
silence a voice
sky-clad
the
new-born comes wrapped
in previous lives
sleep
following
the tide
to the moon
sliver
of moon
a peeled willow wand
in a boy's hand
smoothed
by seas
a nearly round rock
points homeward
snow
it
barely covers
end of the year
snow
flakes falling
each alone
mother's day
snowbound
digging
out
haiku
snowman
bowing
down
to spring
so
easy to love
yet she always fumbles
locks and keys
so
much rain
this year how the kids
have grown
sobs
the
oxygen tank
hisses
songs
of sorrow
the harp string breaks
the fall of tears
soup
bubbles
the past lives of vegetables
throbbing with heat
spilled
wine
finger prints on the glass
shaking
spirals
the
world tied together
with double helixes
spring
the
urge to scratch
the earth with a hoe
spring
storms
at their climax
thunder rolls away
spring
sunshine
the snowman too
loses his head
spring
sunshine
the strangeness of his perfectly
normal thumbnail
spring
sunshine
warming the wool
of winter socks
stained
glass
above the baptismal font
a babe spotted red
standing
still
his glance begins
the dance
static
electricity
garbled introductions
they lean together
staying
on the beach
so long it forgets
I am here
still
standing
where others lived
abandoned cabin
strawberries
planted
the blister on her palm
glows bright red
such
a storm!
falling on the roof
all the stars
sun
rise
giving me a new name
and a shadow
sunday
morning
all the waves in white
kneeling on the beach
sunlight
trying
to paint highlights
on tops of waves
sunny
sea winds
shoulders ache
for the want of wings
sunrise
pouring
into the valley
fog
sunset
illumination
of other worlds
clouds
surf
fishing
when they saw our catch
beer appeared
surf
rolls
power in the sand
low-flying birds
surf's
surge and boom
brushing my teeth
in a stranger's bathroom
tangled
in sleep
on a sea weed strewn beach
lovers
tears
watering flowers
i'll never see again
death morning
telephone
call
the addressed Easter card
not to be sent
tending
the graves
the dirt under my nails
is just a beginning
thanks
giving
the first cup of water
tipped to the earth
Thanksgiving
Day
after the storm
beachcombing
thanksgiving
day
an old couple on the pier
fishing
that
too
a present of sour plums
on my birthday
the
beach
humming a song
without words
the
cold wind
now part of the day
at the beach
the
daughter's call
about her divorce
the
godless month
busy with preparations
for Christmas
the
long day
holding my eyes
against the sky
the
new couple
one looks upstream
the other down
the
old man shaves
then crawls into bed
with his old wife
the
sound of surf
someone walking
on trackless sand
the
sun rises
petting a yellow cat
with warmth
the
widow
taking swimming lessons
from the life guard
their
eyes closed
to a million dollar view
a seaside cemetery
these
long days
watching the sky fade
with closed eyes
this
time
grandfather's death
faces me
threading
a needle
on new year's day
the spool unwinds
thunderstorms
the
sky saying "boo"
on Halloween
tide
full
leaving the beach
to a crying gull
tide
pool still
as if it is tomorrow
I'm not here
tide
turning
around rocks
around the sea
till
death turns to face me
i'll write behind his back
laugh lines
to
leave Ohio
buckling up
the seat belt
tombstone
something
for others
to look at
touchstone
the
body arching the abyss
death
tourists
taken
by the view
snapshots
twilight
neither
night nor day
frogs and bats
unable
to sleep
the Jack-o-lantern watches
us all night
unpainted
porch
fog comes
to a closed door
unwanted
child
wearing a name
that doesn't fit
up
and down
driftwood lairs of lovers
come and go
vacant
stares
from the vacant house
no one looks
visiting
graves
the stone at dusk
warms
visitors
counting the sea lions
in 'their' cove
voices
along the road
after the school bus goes by
only birds
waiting
for guests
a corner of the rug
keeps turning up
waiting
for the wave
a killdeer practices his cry
of surprise
waiting
room
a patch of sunlight
wears out the chairs
walking
away the cold
abandoned in the next cove
a sweatshirt
walking
the land
that has taken my parents
their years
walking
to work
our sleeves touch
starch on silk
warm
under quilts
the young couple lie quiet
in the place of one
washing
the newborn
ties with rainwater
cloud to earth
water
colors
the flute concert
steals gray
watercolor
paper
stopping a wave
with a brush
waterfall
delicate
forms
for a spirit
whispering
welcome
to our winter-weary selves
returning geese
whispers
my
ancestors turning to larva
under the mounds
white
ghost waves
rocky river ripples
roll upstream
white
surf
wanting to keep the ocean free
of oil wells
white
with foam
the ocean enters
the river's mouth
wind
tangling
bare
black trees
wind
broken
the bent branch
falls to the roots
wind
in the willows
ghost of a woman
basket gathering
windless
surf
how easily the old folks
are entertained
windshield
wiper
not brushing away
the tears
wings
of dawn
birds unfolding
the light
winter
begins
leaving me alone
with autumn
winter
night
only the candle
reads my poems
winter
solstice
finding a new point
for accupressure
winter
sun
the hour's angle
frosted
winter
twilight
gathers in her lap
white folded hands
with
cold fingers
writing down words
everyone knows
within
this egg
festival of the seventh day
a heart beats
without
a lamp
the moonlight turns
my hair white
without
love
sea kelp growing
a holdfast
woman
and her pillow
curled around a notebook
dawn's first light
wrinkling
up
along the shore line
an old ocean
writing
her memoirs
the aged poetress reads
her first haiku
young
poet gives
to Jane his book of poems
"For Maggy, with love"