haiku page
I don’t read poetry. I share the view of a woman who said to me: I
have my hands full dealing with the problems of my friends let
alone a complete stranger. But poetry is writing and my
sympathies are with all members of the fraternity of writers.

Andrew is a friend and fellow teacher. He teaches, he writes, he
boxes. He works out at a gym in Hollywood and  one day a girl
came up and asked if he wanted to go a few rounds. He declined.
The girl asked again. Again he declined and now a trainer comes up
and says: go ahead. She boxes with the guys all the time.

So he said: ok.

Into the ring they climb and begin to spar—to feel each other out.
Naturally hes holding back. He doesnt want to hurt the poor thing.
But she is aggressive and begins to land a few. Not only that—they
hurt.

He said to me: I got a little pissed off.

I said: then what?

He said: I kicked her ass!
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18 haiku poems
andrew bleeden


satellite dish
pointing the way
to the evening star

not a second
across my window
bird flying by

stopped traffic-
sunbeams pierce
the cement sky

the night sky-
seen through
the skeleton of a house

the raindrops
dont make a sound
as they slide down the glass

breathing

fresh  aire

deeper


crumbling sage
in my hand-
no sticky smell remains

liquidation sale:
nothing left
inside


walked among
the mansion of the wealthy-
saw one kid playing

a gutter puddle
glistens
in the winter sun

sweeping wind-
how clear
the city lights

her lips part
before reddening
the filter tip

fall sunshine
on my pillow:
dropping my head into it

cold night
street light shining
on an empty shopping cart

the blank billboard...
made up of
panels of wood

rainy night-
a recliner
left by the curb

the great ocean-
the warmth
I piss into it

nearing winter
two crows
fly into the mist
archives
andrew