f/k/a . . .

At f/k/a, you get all the haiku you deserve —

Every visit is free.  No contingencies.  No fine print.

 

Here’s your reward today from andrew riutta:

 

“snowflakeSN”

darkening more

and more in morning light,

one crow

 

 

 

snow melt . . .

her only footprint

touches the earth

 

 

 

 

holding her umbilical cord

at the middle . . .

each end already taken

 

andrew riutta

“darkening more” & “snow melt” - Acorn 2005

“umbilical cord” - Presence 2005

 

  Not enough?  Try a few Tanka by Andrew, from

Simply Haiku (Spring 2006) Click for more.

 

 

days
become months
become years . . .
in moonlight
my beer stays cold

 

 

drunks stumble in and out of her
like cartoon characters—
wet with fallen leaves
this dark road home

 

 

 

peeking into
this wormhole in my apple
I see a poet
thirty years from now
still dressed like a plumber

 

 

 

at my age
falling in love
with the person
she thought I was—
autumn graveyard

 

“snowflakeSN”

 

 

yesterday
I bought myself a new hat
with ear flaps . . .
today, myriad thoughts
muffle the falling snow

 

 

 

one lone cricket
louder than all the others—
not one of us
has ever found the words
to comfort the living

 

                                                          

 

At f/k/a, you get all the haiku you deserve —

Every visit is free.  No contingencies.  No fine print.

 

Here’s your reward today from andrew riutta:

 

“snowflakeSN”

darkening more

and more in morning light,

one crow

 

 

 

snow melt . . .

her only footprint

touches the earth

 

 

 

 

holding her umbilical cord

at the middle . . .

each end already taken

 

andrew riutta

“darkening more” & “snow melt” - Acorn 2005

“umbilical cord” - Presence 2005

 

  Not enough?  Try a few Tanka by Andrew, from

Simply Haiku (Spring 2006) Click for more.

 

 

days
become months
become years . . .
in moonlight
my beer stays cold

 

 

drunks stumble in and out of her
like cartoon characters—
wet with fallen leaves
this dark road home

 

 

 

peeking into
this wormhole in my apple
I see a poet
thirty years from now
still dressed like a plumber

 

 

 

at my age
falling in love
with the person
she thought I was—
autumn graveyard

 

“snowflakeSN”

 

 

yesterday
I bought myself a new hat
with ear flaps . . .
today, myriad thoughts
muffle the falling snow

 

 

 

one lone cricket
louder than all the others—
not one of us
has ever found the words
to comfort the living