| 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! |
| 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 |
andrew