Simply Haiku: A Quarterly Journal of Japanese Short Form Poetry
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Summer 2005, vol 3 no 2

 

Pipeline ~ Andrew Riutta


quiet night...
moth wings
stir the fog

 

north star...
as if I could find
my way

 

mayfly
a shattered world
through its wing

 

nameless,
this worm downwind
from countless stars

 

half moon---
between two crickets
a year has passed

 

home from the war---
flattened grass begins to
climb the silence

 

a long summer...
the pasture brightens
with autumn weeds

 

starlit mountain...
the sound of water
returning to itself


Andrew Riutta lives in northern Michigan, along with his wife, Lori, and their three year old daughter, Issabella. He grew up on the shores of Lake Superior, surrounded by freighters and agates; orchards and farms. He just recently finished the poems for a book he hopes to publish, 'sneaking up on waterfalls,' in which he speaks to his daughter about the hopes and doubts of a parent:

as we walked to your school
I tried to teach you that sometimes
there is bliss in not knowing

you said "I know"

When not writing or reading poetry, Andrew loves to sew hand-stitched bags out of canvas and leather. He also loves listening to wide band and shortwave radio. Mostly, he loves learning from his daughter about the world.


Click here to read Robert Wilson's interview with Andrew Riutta in this issue of Simply Haiku.


Copyright 2005: Simply Haiku