apple harvest the homely girl culls

w. f. owen

the table grape rolls off the table missing you

w. f. owen

A haibun published in Frogpond, vol. 31 (No. 3), 2008, p. 61:

It seems strange

to be buried in spring with the blossoms popping insects crawling flies buzzing but here I lie in deep dirt like a bulb planted the coolness the voices of passing walkers laughing sometimes scolding an errant child lovers walking hand in hand creating their own light no light here comfort snugness is snugness a real word are we there yet is it time for bed momma . . . awake the time it takes to realize it was a dream.


sunset the long thread to the hanging caterpillar

w. f. owen

Indian summer looking through the yearbook

w. f. owen

cutting the first persimmon i hold my breath

w. f. owen

lingering heat with a turn the dog lies down

w. f. owen

gardening till the clouds part

w. f. owen

surplus of stars tonight the chatty girl

w. f. owen

just when i thought i knew him this

w. f. owen

Indian summer the adult day-care field trip

w. f. owen

Indian summer she says hi to the man behind me

w. f. owen

autumn clouds clumps of shirt under his sweater

w. f. owen

fish ladder more children than salmon

w. f. owen

crossing the walk bridge neither here nor there

w. f. owen

first colored leaves the boy's hot face

w. f. owen

waning moon the boy runs home to supper

w. f. owen

rain ending the shine returns to the pond

w. f. owen

retired he wakes up at the same time

w. f. owen

walking to school in the mist hair slicked down

w. f. owen

the blue dragonfly flits across the blue sky

w. f. owen