This page features short form poetry and prose typically inspired by haiku. Few of the examples are true haiku even if they are written in the traditional 5-7-5 structure; some tend more toward senryū. A separate haiku blog with more information on the form can be found here.
All work on this page is written by Austin Shadduck and licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International.
__________
a warm November
the tallest oak has reddened
since my last visit
__________
pulling the cover
from my old keyboard the dust
still between the keys
__________
how many days pass
‘fore I spot the parlor palm
turned by August winds
__________
Bubble Tea
upside down tea cup
through which she looks, squinty-eyed
“that’ll be four bucks”
__________
Workin’ Progress
Creativity. Conception. Doubt. Direction.
Inspiration. Confidence. Flow and connection.
How did I do that? Can I do it again?
If only ideas would stay where they’ve been.
Empty space. Writer’s block. Excuse! A ticking clock.
Reading then chores then distracted by Bach.
Why is it four and I’m still not in bed?
Who needs a hardhat when you have a hard head?
__________
first snow
the city bundles up
in white
it’s never too soon
or so the posters insist
for the holidays
__________
New Music
conducting wildly
she throws her arms to the sky
and no one listens
__________
two roommates singing
to themselves within their rooms
empty living room
__________
a tiny spider
suspended above his head
both stiller than still
__________
Sparks
ever since high school
my life has been a timebomb
one that explodes quietly
a burst here
a blip there
little sparks everywhere
then the timer gets reset
I’d like to say I enjoy the excitement
the wonder
the never-knowing
but I sense a day’s coming
when the blast will be too large
to reconstruct the pieces
that get scattered to the wind
so what I leave behind are fragments
glimpses into a mind that craves connection
to this earth
to that love
with you
why is it that when I let go
you begin to grasp?
__________
on the train back home
a guitarist composes
as I’m rocked to sleep
__________
sleep deprivation
the balmy late-summer breeze
leaves me
……………..in shivers
__________
a curtain
rubbing against my guitar
with the crickets
__________
cardinal on the sill
the crack in my bamboo flute
widens
__________
Stagehand
watching from backstage
shadows dance upon the wall
who sees the real show?
__________
genmaicha
over-steeped but comforting
elderly couples
__________
Under Construction
the budding rosebush
destined to spend every day
beneath a steel sky
__________
Harlem humidity–
sweating under stage lights
in a sauna of sound
__________
laughter shakes the park
as bold as the thunder clap
that made the children squeal
to be eight again
running home through the downpour
savoring every drop
__________
firefly on his hand
for the first time he catches
a glimpse of its light
__________
a wisp of a cloud
below the moon at sunset
and I in his embrace
__________
the hills of Scranton
an old man gets off the bus
because of chest pains
__________
Golliwogg’s Cakewalk
from the apartment above
on flute, not piano
__________
it was in silence
I became a musician
the space between notes…
__________
Of Carmen and de Lucia
fueled by flamenco,
cigarettes, and hard liquor–
improvisation
–venture into the open
and out of the box
__________
Autumn Landscape
a half-filled canvas
sits on a wobbly easel
waiting for the fall
__________
that 70s funk
unlike pop music today
moves, grooves, takes me home
it’s all in the bass
the motion of the ocean
just ask Barry White
__________
wheelchair ballet
she dances without moving
her feet
__________
that awkward moment
when you sneeze into your hand
before a handshake
__________
Takemitsu
carefully plucking
the music with his fingers
from two diff’rent worlds
__________
Cascade
coffee ring on desk
head on manuscript paper
pencil on the floor
__________
Well Played, Body, Well Played
ambush in my eyes!
five long sharp lashes
let loose all at once
__________
In Memorium Butch Morris
Lawrence D. Morris
“getting Ignant with the thing”
the first
………….best
………………..last way to play
Butch Morris, Jazz Bandleader and Conductor, Dies
__________
Mixed Greens
peas in the fried rice
those little green balls of mush
and their aftertaste
__________
Sunday Surfer
It’s about this time of night
that my motivation seeps out
and I load up with caffeine
to ride the restless waves
till I crash against the shore
salted, shriveled, wanting more
than another joyless ride
I put myself through, oh, what for?
__________
Wind or Water
I blew away an eyelash
and hoped my wish came true
it floated on and soon was gone
a dream sailed out of view
I threw away an eyelash
and washed it down the drain
another youth drowned by untruth
will never soar again
__________
Rush Hour
watching the cabbies
from a library window
life in the fast lane
__________
Winter Jazzfest
Lee Konitz on sax
eighty-five and blowing strong
through the winter night
__________
driving out of Maine
heron on the frozen marsh
only sign of life
__________
the sun in winter
resting at my side
momentarily
but that is enough
to warm a tired soul
until our next tryst
and like the others
only to be led
away by the clouds
will you float on by
and dream of the heat?
__________
Ella
lying on the floor
staring at a ceiling fan
listening to jazz
seeping through the wall
those cheap wood panels
darken everything they touch
even music can’t escape
unscathed from their clutch
Ella sings the blues
twisted moans and garbled groans
rising from the other room
debts paid at the door
the child on the rug
hears the whir of blades above
cut into its home
like the cost of love
__________
2013 Looks a Lot Like 1985
first Friday morning
doing the Molly Ringwald
in my living room
__________
those who meet must part
a traveler reminds me
first of the new year
__________
winter night in Maine
the last lick of lobster stew
then what do you do?
__________
the condescension
rolls off his loose tongue and falls
short of its mark
__________
the old Jewish man
reciting religious texts
under a strained breath
__________
frozen in the snow
waiting for a pack of wolves
to silently pass
__________
When The Doors Open
Jim Morrison said
“Pain is meant to wake us up.”
Why am I so tired?
__________
the old professor
hunched over his computer
wond’ring where time went
__________
procrastination
waiting till the last minute
to sleep
__________
In Memorium
the unmanned piano
and a moment of silence
Take Five, Dave Brubeck
__________
morning fog
rising
with the scent of coffee
__________
shakuhachi concert
November winds howl
through the doors of the hall
__________
a windowless room
droplets on the umbrella
refuse to dry up
__________
no plans to return
an old classmate on the bus
high school reunion
__________
the animal stares
as if it will help her case
empty cat food bowl
__________
distant cityscape
dim below a star-filled sky
__________
Greyhound Gripe
crying on a bus
understanding the appeal
of dead baby jokes
__________
It’s hard to stay mad
when you are so cute
I just wish you didn’t know
All my scowls are drowned
in your deep blue eyes
lost on that innocent face
Yet under the mask
the truth lies snakelike
my slight smile is yours to twist
__________
anniversary
even then I am alone
waiting to be loved
__________
flatulence–
the silence
–is suffocating
__________
falling asleep
at the wheel
of my mouse
__________
a piano-perched Muse
parts her pantihosed portions
revealing nothing
__________
Wedding Processional
the bride’s family
has been doing this for years
rehearsal dinner
bridal procession
she pauses at the aisle
and takes a deep breath
wedding reception
all eyes on the new couple
as they dance the dance
__________
snow on the twelfth floor
watching my child’s red face melt
when he’s met with rain
__________
pumpkins line 5th Ave.
the warmth of a chestnut stand
and men in a strand
__________
Enlightenment
an infant’s hand barely grasping
an infant barely grasping
barely grasping
gasping
__________
ant on the parched earth
pulling a pared pumpkin seed
this autumn’s harvest
__________
crumpled and tossed
a candy wrapper butterfly
unfurls its wings
__________
growing apart, yet
every night we fall asleep
with hands intertwined
__________
Bashō alone
pondering mortality
there is no poem
__________
Ode to La Monte Young
cicadas
above the power lines
buzz
__________
decorative fruits
aging in a trifle bowl
will they ever spoil?
__________
Human Centipede
Ride my desire; be ashamed
How wondrous the merge!
(This is how I will
forever remember
my time with DDT)
__________
Hair it has not
so she gives the fry a wig of ketchup.
That’s better.
__________
anticipation–
a scattering of action
calm before the storm
__________
Outside a café
Django softly strums a chord;
from a dream I wake.
__________
A gun, a bullet,
A hand to pull the trigger,
Blood against a wall
Painting a picture–
Crimson droplets trickle down
Like rain upon glass
But once the storm clears
Will the artist contemplate
This study in form?
__________
What a shame it is
to suck the world dry and not
breathe some life back in.
__________
street lamps and headlights
on a moonless night in June
welcoming me home
__________
A lone wren perches
on a branch above and sways
gently in the wind.
Perhaps such a bird,
with feathers brushed by the breeze,
has a companion.
__________
A gaggle of geese
is enough to make giggle
a briefcase of gnus.
__________
I Dream of Jeanie
My Master the Chili King
Buddy Kaye lives on
__________
A little known fact:
“every” is actually
two syllables long.
__________
Cleverness abounds!
Your wit is sharp as a blade
of grass at first frost.
__________
form is emptiness
emptiness is form
__________
The French horns growl and
Prokofiev kills a duck;
wolves have to eat too.
__________
music in autumn–
floating on the breath of time
as a falling leaf