Buttercup haiku

Apparently, yesterday was National Haiku Day. This nation got the news a day late, so here’s a late entry to the festivities. I tried to photograph the buttercups that have overgrown the left bank, but the sun was too bright and the pic is over exposed. Maybe it’ll rain tomorrow…


Golden riverbank

sun-starred, morning dew-damp basks

flows deep, the river.

On brown flood water

Three short poems for early spring.

Photo ©Virginia State Parks staff



On brown flood water,

Buttercups nodding,

Yellow buds sleeping,

Tough roots digging,

Into cold mud.

Sharp breeze riffling,

Brown sedge greening,

Where blackbird is singing,

Spring is coming,

On the ebb tide.


Winter rose trembles

wind-plucked petals fall

to mingle with last snowflakes

in a spun sugar ballet.


Your arms full of petals,

Wrapped in a tangle

Of scented limbs,

Drowning us both

In a snowstorm

Of blue sky-painted

Spring birdsong.

Old wharf with buttercups

The grass grows tall here
Smudged with mauve and white and gold
And clumps of buttercups crawl
Across the timbers of the old abandoned wharf.
Birds nest where tall ships used to moor
Where the river still laps undisturbed.
Rotting, rusting wood and iron
The wharf waits peacefully to sink
Into the river mud beneath the weight
Of a million golden buttercups.