“A Few Haiku (11)”

(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

(#61)

Earth, sea and sky have
Tales to tell; be patient
For they speak slowly

…..

(#62)

I attain wisdom
Not from church or pagoda
But from woods and streams

…..

(#63)

When winter wind blows
All pretense is torn away
Bares my soul to all

…..

(#64)

Whispering sea shell
Tells of life I could have had
If I’d dared to live

…..

(#65)

This overgrown path
Filled with rocks and thorns cannot
Lead me home again

…..

(#66)

bitter early snow
I don’t recognize this world
anymore

“A Few Haiku (10)”

(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

(#55)

Caught like wounded prey
In sharp fangs of granite crags
Dusk sun spills its blood

…..

(#56)

Those coins that fall through
Gaps in floorboards forgotten
Like old memories

…..

(#57)

My heart recalls you
Like my broken bleeding thumb
Recalls the hammer

…..

(#58)

Do my deafened ears
Make me any less human
I hear with my heart

…..

(#59)

Scarlet gilia
Weep sweet tears in sage meadow
After thunderstorm

…..

(#60)

On my back porch step
There’s so much to think about
And so little time

“The Barn”

“The Barn”
© 2013 by Michael L. Utley

On weed-strewn verge of fallow field
The barn still stands, a silent revenant
Of ages past, a mournful sentiment
Amid the dying elms concealed

Its boards the hue of ancient bones
The wind has long since scoured paint away
As season after season rendered gray
Once brilliant lively crimson tones

Dead teasel husks caress its skin
A memory of lilac, wild rose
And hollyhock a melancholy prose
No longer whispered in the din

Of bitter zephyrs in the loft
That magnify each sorrow-laden groan
Each pensive sigh and every hopeless moan
Of dreams denied and yearnings scoffed

On cupola atop the roof
The antiquated weather vane points north
In rusted rictus, ever drawing forth
That demon wind on cloven hoof

Inside, the haymow lost to time
Illusory, a phantom from the past
Whose gilded straws have disappeared at last
An unseen grotesque paradigm

The ladder to the loft on high
Clings stubbornly amid the swirling motes
That dance in hellish pace to eldritch notes
The song of death, fey herald’s cry

And from the loft extends the beam
That transits barn so high above wood floor
Above the stack of hay that is no more
And from this, like some ghastly dream

There hangs a rope no longer there
Recast ephemeral by passing years
Whose insubstantial form allays no fears
Whose memory I’m doomed to bear

All silence now, sere winter’s grasp
Has stilled the air, the motes drift in the night
In moonbeams pale, and from the rope drawn tight
About my neck, my dying gasp

Lilts softly in the midnight frost
As it has done each night for years gone by
Eternal recompense to rectify
All that I’ve done, all that I’ve lost

(Author’s note: I debated whether to post this piece for quite a while. Some of the imagery could be considered disturbing, particularly in the last two stanzas. I used the narrator’s suicide as a metaphor for guilt, shame and loss and how those emotions can haunt us for a lifetime. I considered inserting a trigger warning at the beginning and spent several days researching studies and opinions on such tactics, with the results varying widely and no real general consensus met on how to handle sensitive or disturbing material. In the end, I decided against a trigger warning for several reasons, and chose to add this note instead.

If you or someone you know is suicidal, please talk to a healthcare professional, call your local area suicide hot-line or discuss it with a friend or family member. Above all, know you’re not alone. There is help available to get you through this difficult time.)

“A Few Haiku (9)”

(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

(#49)

The silent garden
My mother’s memories
Germinate

…..

(#50)

There is never joy
In the dark night of the soul
I embrace the dawn

…..

(#51)

I still hear the sound
Of breezes in bamboo groves
When I think of you

…..

(#52)

Some days all I need
Is to watch the spotted cat
Chasing butterflies

…..

(#53)

It is my hope when
Kiku bloom in time to come
You’ll remember me

…..

(#54)

My old hoe is dull
And the weeds resist its blade
Still I toil on

“A Few Haiku (8)”

(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

(#43)

Sweat upon my brow
Dries to crystal salt; my toil
Earns ivory crown

…..

(#44)

Early morning mist
Mother cloud comes home to nest
Earth is safe and warm

…..

(#45)

Insects whispering
Secrets filled with mystery
As I plant the rice

…..

(#46)

In the pond I learned
All I need to know of life
Koi glide peacefully

…..

(#47)

My old white dog tries
To catch the swift stream but he
Only ends up wet

…..

(#48)

In these callused hands
There is dirt beneath the nails
Strength and wisdom too

“A Tanka Trio (7)”

(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

(#19)

When I sought knowledge
I opened my eyes and ears
When I sought wisdom
I opened my mind and heart
Rain and sunshine for my soul

…..

(#20)

In my winter dreams
I walk barefoot in the spring
Sink my toes in loam
In the green konara copse
Gathering the brown acorns

…..

(#21)

Near the red footbridge
Piebald koi drowse in the shade
Of lotus blossoms
As cicadas call my name
Welcoming me home again

“Red Hats”

“Red Hats”
(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

“The end came just like the fella predicted,”
The old man said. “They were legion,
Wrapped in flags and carrying crosses,
And they were insane.”

He regarded me with a resigned calmness
Across the flames of the campfire,
Studying me intently as his eyes flickered,
His haggard face ensconced in a fiery
Red-yellow glow. At his feet, a small black dog
Lay curled in a tight ball of oblivious slumber
Beneath frigid late-autumn stars,
Occasionally twitching in some
Alien canine dream. The denuded woods
Surrounding us were silent save for
Sporadic cries that echoed remotely in the dark.

“They caught us unaware,” the old man continued.
“Their lies were slippery and darkly enticing,
And they awoke a feral animal bloodlust
In the gullible low-hanging fruit. It was
Modern-day sorcery, a triggering of
Mass psychosis, a mental blitzkrieg,
A philosophical paradigm shift of
Cult-like proportions.”

He stirred the fire with a stick as he
Gazed into the embers, scrying memories
Of the end of all things. The dog let out a
Muffed whimper and kicked weakly in its sleep.

“You never know a man’s heart until you
Dangle a piece of raw meat in front of him,”
The old man said, still lost in his contemplation
Of the embers. “All it took was the raw meat
Of lies and fear and hate, bow-tied in a
Pretty box of false patriotism. Guns and ammo
Included.”

At this, he looked at me through the fire,
His eyes burning. “And they had all the guns.
And when they ran out of bullets, they
Used their fists. And when they ran out of
Enemies, they fell on each other like a
Pack of rabid hyenas…and their
Mad orange god was pleased…”

To the east, the bilious moon climbed
Above the bony fingers of the trees
As a gust of wind kicked up sparks
In the fire, sending them heavenward
Like a swarm of hellish fireflies.

“After that, it was just mop-up duty
For the shock troops,” the old man said.
“The base had fulfilled its sacred duty
Of wanton slaughter and blasphemous
Self-sacrifice. The plutocrats performed
Their symbolic fellatio on the
Mad orange god, then everyone hunkered
And bunkered down. And this…” he said,
Nodding at the cold dead woods,
At the distant insensate stars, at the bloated moon
Clawing its way up the night sky,
At the howls of the damned echoing
In the darkness, at the utter extinction
Of all hope, “…is what’s left…”

“A Few Haiku (7)”

(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

(#37)

Swathed in winter’s arms
Chilly bosom hushes earth
Snowy lullaby

…..

(#38)

As heron’s plume drifts
Away on a silent stream
Memories of you fade

…..

(#39)

Do worms of the earth
Dream of sunlight; are their minds
As blind as their eyes

…..

(#40)

I’ve tried to catch the
Fleeting breeze in my hands but
I am unworthy

…..

(#41)

In the thunderstorm
Footprints filled with rain water
I have lost my way

…..

(#42)

Near the waterfall
Yellow birds drink from the cups
Of purple flowers

“A Few Haiku (6)”

(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

(#31)

Autumn ground mists rise
Earth gives up its ghosts as moon
Summons spirits home

…..

(#32)

Stones in shallow stream
Smooth and round as heron’s eggs
Current tends her nest

…..

(#33)

In a bamboo cage
Finch sings of the open skies
It will never see

…..

(#34)

In a forest pond
Lotus float like small wasen
Laden with blossoms

…..

(#35)

Mud on waraji
Sticks like bitter memories
I cannot let go

…..

(#36)

Perfume of willows
And the laughter of the stream
Hope is still alive

“A Few Haiku (5)”

(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

(#25)

Fronds torn by the storm
Willow bathes her wounds in tears
Heaven cries above

…..

(#26)

In konara copse
Broken axe is silent now
Entombed by the ferns

…..

(#27)

In my sorrow
I doubt even sparrow’s joy
Can restore my heart

…..

(#28)

In chill autumn rain
Memories of sakura
Memories of you

…..

(#29)

There is bird-song when
I see my bare-footed love
Smiling demurely

…..

(#30)

All I wish for you
Is that you are happy and
You’ll remember me