Poem #23: Four Senryu

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Crock full of wooden spoons;
I can stir things up
as long as they're not on fire.
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Radio on all night.
Fervid pundits put me to sleep,
but I wake to a light rain.
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She insisted she was chaste,
but the ethics of her perfume said
leather, smoke, bruised lilac.
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The oxygen machine has
a 30-foot hose.
Beyond that, you're in your own atmosphere.
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Poem # 2: Three Senryu, One Haiku

shredding old bank statements
I still know
where the money went

++++

dog licks my feet
with fervor;
they're his drug of choice

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a loud whine
wakes everyone on the block;
sound of alternator dying

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last night's glass of wine
left by the open window;
pollen floats on top

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