Welcome to the May 2015 issue of brass bell, featuring poems by Bill Waters
first bird
at daybreak . . .
and then all the rest
neglected field . . .
for no apparent reason
daffodils
where two trails cross
we stop and listen . . .
birdsong
time
and clouds
passing
cracked cement
Johnny-jump-up
catches a sunbeam
deserted beach . . .
ocean roars
anyway
faintly
the woodpecker
across the water
Bay Avenue:
a flock of seagulls
a giggle of girls
gardening —
almost a leaf
the leafhopper
the clink
of the white gate
beside the twisted pine
luncheonette counter . . .
reaching for
her hand
deepening dusk . . .
one by one
the fireflies
peonies —
they rest their heads
in the grass
fitful sleep —
a single bark in the dark
then silence
piles of leaves
mounds of leaves
hills of leaves
the smell of clean laundry
and the huffing breath
of the steam iron
as if to name it
is to know it:
great blue heron
almost sunset . . .
silver ripples
of the mallards
purple clouds
some edged with copper
some edged with gold
sleeping in . . .
little by little
the sun on my face
old-growth forest . . .
chickadees in the trees
break the winter silence
black ice —
shortening my stride
even more
in the greenhouse
lilies
and the fragrance of lilies
he faints
in the heat of the sun!
fallen snowman
napping on the sofa —
two curled-up cats
napping on me
twilight
in the parking lot —
one bird chirps
book-lover’s bedtime —
I mark my place
with a smaller book
one owl
questioning
the whole night through
Bill Waters, a lifelong poet and writer, looks at the world through haiku-colored glasses and likes what he sees. He lives in Pennington, New Jersey, U.S.A., with his wonderful wife and their three amazing cats.
You can find more of his writing at billwatershaiku.wordpress.com, twitter.com/bill312, and facebook.com/bill312
