#28

Crack! The passing storm
floods roads, breaks trees, crushes cars,
and scrapes the sky clean.

#27

Tooth in the driveway:
rain-spattered human molar.
Who dares pick it up?

#26

Robins scratch through leaves
framed by bare branches of plum
on a slanting roof.

#25

A new play is done.
I bicycle in brisk wind
during the storm's lull.

#24

Telephone ringing
with nobody on the line.
Robots again? Bah!

#23

Black cat on a roof,
sprinkled with yellow leaves, goes
hunting for the wren.

#22

Driving back and forth
Between the sea and river
Catching rain and mist.

#21

Mirror of the bay,
framed by green mountain peaks capped
with a crown of clouds.

#20

A break in the fog
the skylight drinks up the sun
shot with light's arrow.

#19

Crimson leaves make a
bonfire against a bleak sky
burning all winter.

#18

Ignoring the rain
a wet man waters the earth
over and over.

#17

Solstice moon hiding
behind a constant drizzle
still calls to the sun.

#16

When the raining stops
The workmen race to finish.
Ants raid the kitchen.

#15

Suspenders anchored,
leaping wet leaves and puddles,
I wish for a hat.

#14

I found angry friends
returned from their eviction
drinking and laughing.

#13

Cat, wrapped in blanket,
watches the rain returning.
Why bother going out?

#12

Housebound, on the couch,
dozing beneath long shadows
cast by the cold sun.

#11

Walking up the stairs
hurts much more than walking down
when you've caught the flu.

#10

Periwinkle blanket
edged with pale gossamer peach :
Sunrise looking east.

#9

Ebb tide at sunset:
Mud dunes ripple half-submerged
like countless coiled snakes.

#8

Forget the sunrise.
Forget the empty sky and
remember my arms.

#7

Walking at dusk, past
magnolia blooms in winter,
bearing a thin pine.

#6

Black dog tugs a rope,
clowning for her tipsy guests.
White cat waits at home.

#5

Green iron teapot
steams with unwrapped darjeeling.
Outside, teacup moon.
Sea winds at the Golden Gate;
Still air at noon and midnight.

#4

Four hand-made pizzas.
Six settings at the table.
Ate with old true friends.

#3

Cold comes after rain,
jackets are worn indoors,
shoes need drying out.
Play tunes for a white cat while
waiting for a delayed flight.

#2

I woke on the couch

with stories still in my head.
Composing all day,
even in class with children
who spoke of frozen water.

#1

Four out of eight, late.
Watching from the back, script in
hand, pen on paper.
Shook hands, drank wine, lit candles,
amazed at my luck, my life.

What this is & Why this is.

The Haiku Daybook will record 365 extemporaeneous short poems in the traditional haiku or medieval tanka forms: one poem for every day of the year, starting on December 5th of 2005. This is equal parts writing exercise and mnemonic aide.

The tanka is an predecessor to the 5-7-5 structure of haiku, with a pair of seven syllable couplets attached as a kind of epigram.

Memory is the intent, writing is the means, poetry is the method.

Without writing (sometimes said to be the art of observation), I find myself straining to remember that which goes unrecorded. English is not the best language for haiku given the non-ideogrammatic roots of the romance languages, but I like the enforced brevity. I'm sure any readers will feel the same way.

In re-reading my entries I hope that the process of distillation that results in each completed poem will be tapped into afresh.

A friend once told me to read a single new poem a day to hone one's expertise with the language.

Good advice- but how much more might be gained by writing a single poem a day as well?

I intend to find out.