Waka and Haiku

by Mark H. Froemming

Pale green early spring
Explosions of plant vigor
Erupt from the earth.

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Rain on the window
Flows down in fleeting rivers
Obscuring my view.

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On a gray spring day
A log floats down the river
Where will it end up?

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Rain lightly falling
On a wilderness wetland
Mosquitos abound.

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A red doe browses
On lush summer foliage
Beside a small lake.

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Evening bike ride
Horses graze on soft green hills
Sunlight through the trees.

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Alone with my thoughts:
An eagle soars overhead
Divine messenger
Affirming my existence
However brief and absurd.

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Bats in the moonlight
Fly aerial gymnastics
In pursuit of food.

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Across the night sky
A burning meteor streaks
Fortuitous sight.

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As I sip my tea
I ponder the perfection
Of the universe.

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The smells of autumn
Replace those of summer
September morning.

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A screaming blue jay
Disturbs the serenity
Of the evening.

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Beside the still pond
With its crust of autumn ice
There sits a large rock
Though it seems so permanent
It too will someday be gone.

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This flesh will soon rot
And these bones will turn to dust
Nothing will remain
Of the person that I am
Not even a memory.

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A snowflake gets caught
In last summer's spider web
Such is November.

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A full moon rising
Behind a thin veil of clouds
Casts a muted light.

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As dusk settles in
An owl flies over the trees
Hunter of the night.

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Outside my window
A glistening icicle
Drips to its demise.

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A pair of pigeons
Huddle on a snowy ledge
In the winter cold.

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Against a gray sky
Barren branches gently sway
In the winter wind.

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Windswept and twisted
Clinging to its rock island
A lone pine prevails.

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A hawk rides the wind
On a sunny winter day
Freedom on the wing.

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To live a rich life
With neither desire nor fear
In harmony with
The flow of Reality
Is to find heaven within.

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