Cuttings: July
Haiku, Senryu, Brief Poems, Quintains
Summer Season
1998 - 2025
By Mike Garofalo
Place, Setting, Location:
Vancouver,
Clark County,
Columbia River Valley,
Washington,
2017-2025
sipping 7 and 7
lazy eyed;
the sun sets
on the pond
glaring sun—
silvery halos
Threatening rain—
the willow bows
down to the gusts
Cape Kiwanda dunes
July 4th—
fireworks flared
colors galore
my eyeballs gorged
We dance around Chaos,
praying for life,
wanting the future,
wanting the taste on our tongues,
wanting, wanting. Eros in our hearts.
Cherries in a blue bowl
repening slowly—
a pile of seeds and stems
Slowly watering
heavy grape vines—
moonlit garden path.
July sunbath Sweat
drowsy Lazy noon
beer cool Sip
reading Naked Lunch
nearly naked myself
July Concerts in the Park,
at the pier,
in restaurants;
people dancing
drinkers watch.
Details on Details, Zoom In
The endless treasures of the everyday,
the uncommonness of common things;
Ordinary mind does point the way
to unspoken wonders of myriad beings.
Whether a leaf, the moon, a plastic spoon,
or a shoe, an eye, an infant's cry;
the endless parade, zoom out, in zoom,
Details on details, thick, piled high.
Cellular seedpods pulsing pure time,
Flowering brains clone families of minds
that revel in thinking to the Infinite edge,
agog over life, and love of knowledge.
Whether, a quasar, a hand, a DNA strand,
Fantastic journeys in the Minds of Women.
A Sunday in July
Children playing in shallow river pools;
fat grandpas sleeping in the shade.
Burnt leaves on sagging shrubs;
robins munching on wiggling worms.
Cold beer and crispy chips;
music playing from cellphone chips.
I watched them baptize a weeping woman,
now saved from the fires of hell,
safe and soaking wet.
A firecracker cut the laughter,
dogs barked, babies cried,
the smell of powder smoked by.
Hamburgers coated in ketchup red,
laced with lettuce on tired bread,
bit by bit down the hatch,
bellies satisfied at last.
Corndogs and cornbread,
beans and coleslaw;
dirty paper plates in paper bags,
pink vomit on the green grass.
Riverbed rocks bit their cold toes,
mosquitoes bit their sun burnt backs,
lovers bit their aroused lips,
infants bit their mommies breasts.
Dry ground,
centuries of death things
underfoot,
covered by a grey wool blanket
hiding this Distant Past.
In this way on this day
the thousands of drip drops of experiences
make up
the rain of our reality.
Lewis River Park, Battleground, Clark County, Washington
hungry
dog:
barks and begs
burned my hand
hot soup pan—
damn!
coffe cup
steaming—
inhale smells
Listening to
Steven Halpern—
Eastern Peace.
daybreak somewhere
in July—
raspberries ripen
slowly
sweeter
my generation
Boomers born—
Dying away
everyday
in 2025 July
Rose of Sharon in bloom
white circles of color
in green leaves at noon
backyard artistry
in dry July.
cool morning
mid-July...
birds silent
dogs sleeping
pale blue skies
On Mt. Adam's foothills
this bright July day;
glaciers gleaming gray.
Not a daydream fantasy
real rocks under melting snow.
ferns
in shadows—
ideal home
In July 2025,
I read "On the Road"
by Jack Kerouac circa 1957.
I've also crossed America,
many times, in my own way.
stuttered
stopped
lawn mower—
so pissed
off
Lonely hours alone
on this hot July day
blinds drawn down
fans humming along...
family 2,000 miles away.
Place, Setting, Location:
Red Bluff, Tehama County,
North Sacramento Valley,
California, 1998-2016
bandaged fingers
slowly wiping
bloodstained knife
Overcast summer day—
pigeons touch down
on cooler ground.
Everything limp
under the sun's whip—
yearning for darkness.
cornstalks swaying
knee high—
Fourth of July
sun burnt
wasted land
bristling with star thistles
Rising sun
lifts the long shadows—
cattle move again
Only hours before they die,
dragonflies;
wildly mating,
before our eyes.
sitting naked
Alone—
then she comes home
our lips smack
separating
our fantasies
scent of her flowers
woozy
kissing her knee
ruckus on
damp sheets all askew—
panting face to face
trembling together
we explode!
groaning ...
Sharpening the shovel
Shining edge of steel
Sparks
fresh tender corn
my neighbor's pride and prize,
shared
Hot night—
my panting dog
stares in the screen door
A hole in my boot—
deep cracks
in the baked brown clay
American holiday—
dogs bark
from pickup trucks
In the right place at the right time,
tomato worms on tomato vines.
She is perfectly still,
calm and concerned;
poised by the vines,
hunting for worms.
When I asked you to water the plants,
I did not expect
you'd unzip your pants.
Wolf spiders
prowling the night—
crickets sound alarmed
the wind stopped
I stare
listening to Bach
Holiday weekend slipping away,
children depart—
one last hug
Crushed in a book,
a flat oak leaf
kindles a deep memory.
Thunderstorms on the Fourth
do flash and roar;
flag folded, fireworks boxed,
we watch from the door.
misplaced my work gloves
again
annoyance
dried grasses
crackling underfoot—
singing summer songs
Pond rising,
unfilling, filling ...
a blur of ripples.
Thirty years, or months,
or minutes writing haiku—
sun, moon, eclipses.
Yosemite summers
from the Ice Age of my youth—
"Let the fire fall!"
smoky campfires
border the cold Merced—
young mothers laugh
my first cup of coffee
one cold morning—
bigwig Junior Ranger
mountains to mountains
the Great Valley—
sweltering haze
Unraveling out of seeds,
bursting forth from Gaia’s dark womb,
tomato vines and squash bushes
filled with flowers and fruits aplenty.
Memories of her are dimming
in my old mind;
yet, crossing a decade,
mom's soft smile still shines.
A bit stiff and sore
we sip water in the shade;
our day's gardening done,
admiring what we've made.
Cowboy poems in hand
she fell asleep—
the cadence of snoring.
114° F
(few move)
even ole
an
ders
dr
o
o
p
Cut logs
stacked three stories high—
screeching mill saws.
a dead frog
covered with
flies: eating and laying eggs
our three ducks
all dead in three years—
coyote dinners
rectangular lakes
four acres flat:
rice seedlings greening up
Waiting, waiting, waiting ...
Yes!
Two acre feet
comes flowing
down
the dry
ditch.
"cool summer morning"
three words
from the lips of Eros
My wife
picking peppers and squash—
a smile on her face.
cloudless summer sky
pure sunshine
Hot
white oleanders
dry brown clay
July
along this gravel road—
few travel
but lizards
A Gift of Dried Garlic Flowers
We dug up and turned over the soil.
We added cow manure and mixed well.
We flattened the ground and raked it up.
We sat down: rested, reflected, enough.
We opened packets of garden seeds.
Seeds for herbs and heirloom chives.
Bags of onion sets and garlic cloves.
These starters met all our needs.
For the many Springs of Future Years,
when the Allium stalks stand high
and bloom; we will remember (Yea!)
our First Garden in Red Bluff CA!
We achieved that today.
Later
on the table, a gift for hours,
dried white garlic flowers.
Fan cooled midday nap—
a pleasant dream:
a football game in the rain
Hunted in the Night
In the bowels of darkness, grim and cold,
the heads of the hunted turned,
young and old;
Fearing the rattle in the weeds.
White teeth,
Prowling predators, hard claws unsheathed.
Ears up listening, listening, still as knives,
Fangs barred, dripping tongues, hungry eyes.
Coyotes did their yap-yap howl
Mice and rabbits in holes hide
Racoons and possums growled
Bats flew fast from side to side
The Killer-Hunters are on duty now
In the night, the Night, knowing how.
Drunken gun zealot,
loud-mouthing his rights;
Everyone silent,
put-off, uptight.
Worldwide
many suffer
even as peaches ripen
Exactly at noon—
the branch cracks,
loaded with peaches
One by one they drop
on the ground, ripe peaches—
at day's end.
hot winds:
red dry faces,
wilted leaves
We laugh out loud—
frogs leap from the bank
scattering ripples on the pond.
The Vietnamese
roadside strawberry stand
sold out. Sign up: CLOSE
The hammer falls
on shadowed ground—
view from the arbor top.
At the edges of one mind
are other minds.
Everything gives birth to something;
One thing is indebted to everything.
I water the peach,
peaches feed me in time.
Soil, sun, rain, sky ...
Four Elements embracing,
Intertwined in mind.
Unfathomable Matrix;
Scaffolds on scaffolds
Grounded in Otherness.
Below seeds, flowers, leaves,
stems, roots ...
Below wet cells embraced,
Below atoms dancing on Energy ...
Deeper and deeper below into
What? A Plenitude, sacredness.
Worldlink TV:
window to the Third World's
life, work and woes.
worrying
about wrongs and rights—
awake all night
Huffing and puffing—
my heart protests
its decades of work
Months and Seasons |
|||
25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works
At the Edges of the West, Volume 1
Highway 101 and Hwy 1: Pacific Coast
Quintains, Pentastichs, Tankas
At the Edges of the West, Volume 2
Highway 99 and Interstate 5
Poetry Research by Mike Garofalo
Mike Garofalo lives in Vancouver,
Washington.
He worked for 50 years
in city and county
public
libraries,
and in elementary
schools. He
graduated with
degrees in
philosophy,
library science, and
education. He
has been
a web
publisher since 1998.
25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works
Cuttings: July, Spring, Summer
First Distributed on the Internet WWW in September, 1999.
I really appreciate positive feedback,
reviews, kudos, and encouragement
about the value
of
my free webpages.
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This document was last edited, revised,
reformatted, added to, relinked,
changed, improved, or modified
by Mike Garofalo
on July 31, 2025.