A hollow hemlock

tree spirit

A hollow hemlock:
peering out is more fun
than peering in.

*

I start looking
for a kite string —
the motionless vulture.

*

Thursday’s hurricane
sings softly
in my screen door.

*

The house he grew up in
long vanished,
he brings a lawn chair.

daddy longlegs

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Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave's writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the "share alike" provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).

11 Comments


  1. I especially like the third for its calm local view at something extraordinary. Northeasterners often forget how sheltered and safe we are. Wish the same could be said for the man-made phenomena.

    Reply

    1. Yes, i imagine we’d have a much more respectful attitude toward nature if the climate weren’t so temperate.

      Reply

  2. Wild dreams last night. A scuffle below me, in tree-tops along a wall of a cliff. A huge, fat raccoon tumbles from the leaves. It drops toward a distant plain, where houses are tiny. It goes spread-eagle and I plainly see that it has skin flaps like a flying squirrel. I begin to think it will survive the fall. As it grows smaller I notice there’s a thread trailing from it which arcs up to where I sit near the cliff’s edge. Something comes alive in my hand. It’s a spool of line hissing, tugging.

    Reply

    1. I dreamt of visiting a city in Africa where art galleries were disguised as bars.

      Reply

    1. Oh yeah? I was thinking of this old guy who sometimes sits with his wife down at our railroad crossing. Grew up in a shack a few feet from the tracks and says he finds the thunder of passing trains to be the most restful thing in the world.

      Reply

      1. Having lived near railroad tracks at various points in my life, I can certainly understand that feeling.

        What that particular haiku said to me was the man didn’t need the physical trappings to relish his memories. Proximity was more than enough.

        Reply

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