Uncle Mike's Winter Home

By Michael P. Garofalo

New Year's Day—
fog covered
mucky clay.

frozen puddles—
the crack of axes
from four directions

narcissus blooming
over wet clay—
dreams of Easter

midnight—
humming hard drive,
ticking clock

Cuttings - Haiku - January

January - Quotations & Poetry

Uncle Mike's Cellphone Poetry

Standing in the dark
backlit by a thousand stars—
pissing on gravel.

baby blue
empty sky—
dawn of a new year

Last day of Autumn,
a carved pumpkin rots—
form is emptiness.

First day of Winter,
Christmas lights turned off—
emptiness is form.

Last Day of Winter;
bare dry fields,
leafless walnuts,
blank sheet of paper —
emptiness is form.

First Day of Spring;
made a concrete mold,
mowed the property line
wrote a tercet —
form is emptiness.

She walks by
followed by my eyes—
desires linger.

Short Poems by Michael P. Garofalo

Haiku, Brief Free Verse, Photos
Tercets, Concrete Poems, Quartets
Cinquains, Waka, Senryu, Couplets
30 Letters Max per Line of Text
Uncle Mike's Cellphone Poetry Series

Of things mechanical
I've little ken,
I fumble and fuss
from start to end.
Where a mechanic pushes right
I pull left till
things stick-tight,
And bend things
I shouldn't bend,
till they ain't right.

   Reminding us,
   his old finger trembling:
     "just one thing!"

bone dry
dog turds
laced with frost

Far below
Clear Creek Bridge—
smashed pumkins.

Digging a hole
the shovel splits a white worm—
bare roots in the sun.

         dark trees
       darker clouds—
     rain on my glasses

   almond blossoms
   mixed with mud—
      hailstorm.

Only the idea of self remains
Floating on a sea of cells;
Only heartbeats short of eternity
In breath after breath we dwell.

Cuttings - Haiku - February

The Spirit of Gardening

Uncle Mike's Cellphone Poetry

February - Quotations & Poetry

   flushed purple
   redbud shrubs—
        creeks gushing

dark barn—
a ray of light
from roof to floor

Every inch of ground
green—
mid-day in March.

daylight and darkness
Spring
Balanced

a poet of yore
whispers to us—
gently turning pages

Cuttings - Haiku - March

Uncle Mike's Cellphone Poetry

March - Quotations & Poetry

    northbound train
        rumbles by—
    howling dog

leaning over
stirring soup—
hot and sour smells

  Shadowless dusk
  growing colder—
  squealing teakettle.

Memories of Pacific Coast Places

Four Days at Grayland Beach

Short Poems by Mike Garofalo

Memories of Pacific Coast Places
Travels on US Highway 101 & 1
West Coast Snapshots & Snippets

By Michael P. Garofalo

Coos Bay darkened in the fierce wind and rain;
    while the Indian Casino was bright and gay,
    slot machines running night and day.
Quiet Brooking, a humble seaside place,
    with the nearby Pelican Bay Prison locking up
    the worst of the human race.
Eureka Bay, was wasting away
    in the plywood papermills' scum,
    something needed to be done;
    and, the old nuclear plant's
    abandoned concrete core,
    a statue in the sun,
    had to be undone.
Whether in Oakland or Tacoma, ports so busy,
    docks unloading, 24 hour bustling cities.

A pelican rested on a Westport dock post,
    looking for a feathered lover,
    or a run of the eulachon smelt
    that he liked the most.
All alone with the roaring surf,
    and hungry sea gulls gathering
    close on nearby turf.
A tin of Ekone smoked oysters
    and French bread for lunch today,
    and a coffee latte to let my palette play.
[I looked at more pictures of the Pacific,
    my inner feelings
    plotted against external criteria,
    trying to be specific.]

The Redwood groves soaked up the fog,
    intertwining their octopus roots for centuries,
    confident of a long slog.
Humboldt Redwoods along the Eel;
Temples of Trees, Stupendous—
Beyond just Zeal!
At the Chetco River
the Redwoods stopped—
why not?

Memories of Pacific Coast Places

From dark trees
an owl's hoot—
chilly night.