senryu string

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 grind of a work-day, laughing out loud suddenly 

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no expert...i hate sound of double-doors opening 

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no poems in days, he looks good from back 

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no 'shrinking violet'—this senryu world keeps floating on

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Autumn promises to be warm, despising climate-change deniers

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around the body, cosmos leaves—another storm is coming 

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lunch-time rush: strange eyes of sidewalk preacher 

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invited to haiku workshop, in between yawns...nothing nothing

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only 7:30 pm, 'Bonsai' such an interesting word i think

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reading 'Frogpond' June 1978—no thought in manman's head

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empty bed, your scent buried in your robe


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