Michael McClintock

we’ve had a good year— a bone for the dog and a walk to go bury it
	a black bear standing full height— the winds of March
each there for the other— moon and pine
	a poppy . . . a field of poppies! the hills blowing with poppies!
having no thought we’ve come to see them— dogwoods in bloom
	July heat . . . rinsing peas in water cold from the well
ancient mountains . . . runners clearing hurdles on the practice field
	rhubarb leaves how they soften the pelting rain
a little inn with a swinging sign-board . . . the evening chill
	winter sun I look for something useful to do with my hands

All poems copyright by Michael McClintock.

They may not be used for any purpose without explicit permission.

All of the poems above originally appeared in various publications sponsored by The Haiku Society of America, Haiku Poets of Northern California, Single Island Press, and in Frogpond, Haiku Magazine, The Heron’s Nest, Mariposa, and Modern Haiku.

Michael McClintock

we’ve had a good year— a bone for the dog and a walk to go bury it

a black bear standing full height— the winds of March

each there for the other— moon and pine

a poppy . . . a field of poppies! the hills blowing with poppies!

having no thought we’ve come to see them— dogwoods in bloom

July heat . . . rinsing peas in water cold from the well

ancient mountains . . . runners clearing hurdles on the practice field

rhubarb leaves how they soften the pelting rain

a little inn with a swinging sign-board . . . the evening chill

winter sun I look for something useful to do with my hands

we’ve had a good year—
a bone for the dog
and a walk to go bury it

a black bear
standing full height—
the winds of March

each there
for the other—
moon and pine

a poppy . . .
a field of poppies!
the hills blowing with poppies!

having no thought
we’ve come to see them—
dogwoods in bloom

July heat . . .
rinsing peas in water
cold from the well

ancient mountains . . .
runners clearing hurdles
on the practice field

rhubarb leaves
how they soften
the pelting rain

a little inn
with a swinging sign-board . . .
the evening chill

winter sun
I look for something useful
to do with my hands