Monday, November 12, 2012

Month of Haiku - Day 11 (a longer poem today)

In honor of Veteran's Day and in honor and remembrance of our military men and women both past and present, I share this poem that was published in the Limestone Dust Anthology in 2010.


Not so different from the fox hole,
this cardboard hut beneath the overpass;
But the sound of traffic overhead is soothing
compared to the bombs that still echo
in my dreams.

A man comes by once a week
with his bible and some prayers,
and once he brought a blanket
and a hot thermos of soup.

I accepted his prayers
and the blanket served 
my cat and me well
on cold nights
when my feet went numb.

Numbness was preferred to the blisters
I had from hours of trudging
through snake filled swamps in 'Nam.

And the soup runs warm
down my throat, but 
doesn't warm my belly
quite like Mad Dog
or Wild Turkey.

Those verses he recites
just run around in my head--
He tells me Jesus is my friend,
but Jesus wasn't the friend
I held bloody in my arms
with his chest laid wide open
muttering for his mama 
til his lips went still.


That man keeps comin' back
once a week like clockwork;
Once I ask him to bring
a pack a smokes and he does.

He asks if I have family
and I open up the  shoebox
full of yellowed snapshots--
My mama and daddy long gone
and my Melanie and the baby.

“Where are your wife and child?”
he asks me;
I tell him I don't know anymore; 
I tell him I haven't ever opened my
box for anyone but him,
and my whole body starts to shake.

The man puts his arm around my shoulder
and tells me about the time Jesus
felt forsaken by his own Father;
“Son”, he says,” this country has forsaken you,”
Then the man starts to cry
and tells me he's sorry.

I tell him it's ok
me 'n Dave, my cat,
(I named him after my dead buddy),
are doin' just fine and I light up a smoke;
The man asks for one too
and I say sure; 
Then the two of us sit under 
the overpass smoking,
the soothing sound of traffic overhead.

Month of Haiku - Day 10

prompt - foreign word

Month of Haiku - Day 9 (a tanka of sorts)

prompt - "when he's gone. . .)

Month of Haiku - Day 8

prompt - talking back to a dead poet

Month of Haiku - Day 7

prompt - circle

this second haiku appeared in Shiki Kukai, August, 2009

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Friday, November 2, 2012

Friday, July 27, 2012

2012 SE HSA Ginkgo Haikufest

To be held at Lake Guntersville State Park, in beautiful Guntersville, Alabama. Contact me at for registration information.

Speakers include Bob Moyer, Tom Painting and Laurence Stacey

Door Prizes and a $100 Issa Award for Best Haiku
Must attend to win!

Friday, April 13, 2012

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

PAD Day 3

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Small Stone - Day 19

went to the movies with a friend today.  It reminded me of what my grandma said years ago:


Small Stone - Day 18

hump day. . .the cat and I take a nip

(and that's a nip, not a nap!)

Monday, January 16, 2012

Small Stone - Day 16

The automatic check out voice asks me "Will you be using your own bags?" I push "Yes" and proceed to place my cloth bags on the turnstile for loading. "Please remove the last item," is her robotic reply. I remove the bags, wait a second and put them back on the turnstile. "Please see attendant for assistance." I look around in search of the elusive "attendant."  No one comes to my assistance.  After a few more rounds with "the Voice," I load my groceries back into the cart and head for a "real" check out line.  "Paper or plastic?" asks the flesh-and-blood check-out girl.  I hand the bag-boy my cloth bags and he scowls and opens his mouth.  I just glare at him.  Then he puts the gallon of milk on top of the eggs.

going green
a vine sprouts
in the compost pile

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Small Stone - Day 15

Savasana. . .only this breath. . .only this breath

haiku by Terri L. French
photo by Annie Juhl

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Small Stones 10 & 11

rain, rain, rain
I check my armpits
for gills

good karma
driveway earthworms
returned to the soil

Monday, January 9, 2012

Small Stone - Day 8

She's been gone over ten years
It's been raining for days
Today gray lays on top of gray
and all I wish for is the smell
. . .of wet dog

Thursday, January 5, 2012

Small Stone - Day 5

From a distance
wings unfurled
gliding on the thermals
of a winter wind

From a distance
I watch his flight
a foreboding circle
against a blue back drop

From a distance
squinting through lashes
and into the sun
this turkey buzzard

From a distance

Wednesday, January 4, 2012