REMEMBERING 9/11

REMEMBERING 9/11

A haiku sequence

simple math

six hijackers

to six thousand dead

innocence crumbles

among New York rubble

September rain

patriotic fervor

the geraniums

remain in bloom

blood-stained sun

sinks in the rubble

twilight of hopes

the Vietnam vet buys

red, white and blue tulips

memorial garden

In my book, Rustle of bamboo leaves

but first published in

World Haiku Review

Vol. 1, Issue 3, November 2001

Cycle of life

Mother"s Day
my daughter brings her daughter
as a peace offering

eighteenth birthday
she dances with strangers
my daughter's daughter

a cocoon rides
the autumn wind
her empty room

early spring
my daughter"s daughter
now a new mother

From my book. Rustle of bamboo: Selected haiku and other poems.

Soldier's wife

SOLDIER'S WIFE

a haiku sequence

by © Victor P. Gendrano

soldier's wife

a brisk wind blasts open

her mailbox

she picks up

the muddy newspaper

announcing his demise

in the horizon

a meteor disappears

in a flash

My new work from the latest issue of 

World Haiku Review, March 2003

GUN VIOLENCE, a haiku sequence

seeming epidemic

random deadly shootings

in the land of the free

color them red

innocent victims

of gun violence

staring puzzled

at a deep black abyss

kins of murder victims

gun control debate

who's to blame: the gun

or the trigger man

• Color haiku prompts from NaHaiWriMo (National Haiku Writing Month)
• color them red
• innocent victims
• of gun violence
• 
  staring puzzled
• at a deep black abyss
• kins of murder victims

still green 

in the art of love

sheepishly grinning

From the latest issue of World Haiku Review, August 2012, here's my Moving out haiku sequence.

MOVING OUT 
(A haiku sequence)

by Victor P. Gendrano, USA

                    twilight advent 
                eyeing the remnants
                of my past life

                my daughter says 
                it's alright to feel sad
                moving out

                moving in alone 
                in my new retirement house
                chilly Santa Ana wind

                half awake 
                I thought I smell
                her fresh brewed coffee

                unfamiliar room 
                I bumped my head
                on the bedroom's door

                only a cut 
                the paramedic says
                no stitches needed

                from the window 
                a distant shaft
                of the dawn's light