Ground mist

Low lie these fields and white
with mist that drapes the air in veils of pearl.
Furled the sheets when there is
no breath of wind, and only
stealth in the creeping of the night.


Walking through the drizzle


Walking through the drizzle

When cloud presses down

Tangling water and air,

When there’s

No earth to tread upon

Just scraps of mist

That trip and entwine,

Snake sinuous,

Slippery carcasses strewn on the quay,

I stumble, my head full of

Cold, dead fish

And the ghosts of gulls

That flit through the fog,

Silent as the river, sliding

Like cooling lead

To the unseen sea.

Winter gulls: Haiku sequence

The painting doesn’t really fit, but I like it anyway. You have to imagine the fog.


Gulls on white wings

wheel over the misty river

fishing for lost dreams.


Fog falls thick hiding

water and sky—only gulls

glide nonchalantly.


River mist rises

white grey pearls gulls string their wings

feathered river gems


Cloud winter-swollen

white-flecked with gulls snow drifting

still the robin sings.


Rain whips cold—gulls cry

grey cloud buffets swirling flocks

gale tests feathred strength.


Fallen branches strewn

raft islands on the river

gulls sail to the sea.