F.I. Goldhaber

Oregon, USA

Published in Form. Reborn on
28-29 March 2009
6-12, 22 April 2009


Brooks do not babble.
Skipping over boulders and
rocks, they chatter, sing,
whisper, roar, and gurgle.
But, they really don't babble.

* "Brooks" also appears in
F.I. Goldhaber's book
Pairs of Poems from Uncial Press


The days grow longer.
Blue skies, bright sun bring relief
to those weary of
cold rain. But the geese fly south.
Do we face more winter days?



When you walk in the
park, do you watch people, birds,
plants, clouds, or squirrels?



Acorns crunch under
foot. Leaves turn to red and gold.
When will the rains start?



Rust streaks the metal
pipe, painting complex patterns
an artist could claim.



Fingers of foam creep
across half buried boulders
feeding the mollusks.


Cherry Blossoms

River of pink flows
to drain; cherry tree petals
floating on the rain.



Each spring I find the
cherry trees most beautiful
until dogwoods bloom.



Azalea blooms so
exuberantly, ruby
petals hide each leaf.


Sun Glutton

Sunspot travels to
edge of bed. Cat stretching to
catch last rays falls off.