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January 2023 Haiku & Journal

08 Feb, 2023 | Return|

 

In January 2023 I meditated more than usual, wrote a haiku every day, planked and downward dogged and crunched every day, or nearly every day, and drank ZERO cups of coffee, but loads of black tea. I typed out one sentence each day for my ONE SENTENCE A DAY project. I averaged 9,954 steps of walking per day. I went to Florida and Alabama and then Folk Alliance arrived at the beginning of February and wiped it all out!  Well, the haiku remain. I write them on my laptop, in a notebook, or on my phone. It's hard to locate them all by the end of the month so I had better get a more efficient system going. I don't think it matters how good or bad they are. I suppose it matters that I got it done.  It was a beautiful month of songs and creativity. I feel wiped out now in February and I will be in Australia before this month is out. Better get back to work... 

New Years Day gambling 
poker face not holding strong. 
Humility lessons. 

Thunder cracks boom
when Winter rain is angry. 
Meditation is over!  

Hot drinks, games, poets
Nighttime at the coffee shop. 
Stop writing. Live life. 

Caffeinated head
reads, writes, scrolls, questions, answers. 
Eventually naps. 

South coast Winter rain
Cold winds from the West. 
Scarfs in Florida. 

Wintertime waves
blue skies over white beaches. 
Sticking to the woods. 

Exhausted again
Almost happy tired. Wired
on tea, joy, songs, sex. 

Martin Luther King
Is celebrated today. 
I am six years sober.  

Six years no booze, drugs-
some minor bumps with bruises. 
Growth? Yes. Finished? No. 

David Crosby died. 
Just the physical presence. 
He lives on, always.  

Life gets too heavy.
Escape seems reasonable. 
Book Alaska dates.  

Day of anger, pain.
Light is not getting inside. 
Dinner with daughter. 

Entertaining folks—
strange vocation with speed bumps, 
connection, desire.  

Exercise or loaf?
Addicted to step counting. 
As good as it gets. 

Too much on the plate. 
Some obligations bring joy.
Must walk in the woods. 

I have accomplished 
a lot of work in bed. 
Not a metaphor. 

Dead rock stars galore
remind us of youth when they pass. 
Shane MacGowan lives. 
(Keith Richards lives!) 

Daughter told a friend

she wants to be a writer.

I was proud, frightened.

 

Recording two hours

to provide a song for you.

Hoping for smiles.

 

Carolina girls

in the house. Toilet clogged.

Had to shit in crick.

  

Friends, food, guitar love,

stories, jokes, sunshine giggles.

Birds don’t fly alone.

 

Lunch meeting, new friend.

Discussed family, songs, guitars.

Almost old friends now.

 

Morning pages, tea,

cream, honey, poems, stretching out.

Solid day ahead.

 

Scatter my ashes

throughout Spain and Alaska.

Take your time. Eat well.

 

Here’s what we do know:

Short term memory is shot.

What do we know?

 

Catastrophic friends

speak in hyperbole

every now and then

 

A man is dying

that does not have to die.

Alcoholism

 

Morning explodes with

low, fast moving clouds.

My friend may die soon.

 

No regrets. no fear.

Ridiculous expressions.

All of us have both.

 

January’s face

froze in place this bleak morning.

Life is underneath.

 

Hold a good friend close.

Give them everything you have.

Dead flowers blow away.

 

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