Simply Haiku: A Quarterly Journal of Japanese Short Form Poetry
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Winter 2008, vol 6 no 4


Sanford Goldstein

for the three-day return
of Japanese long dead
how my friend piles food on my plate
as if it was my last supper


I cannot say
there's an inner world
of hill and cloud
the thin string I dragged along
spilled out through four decades


the Christ
that came to rescue
all mankind,
ah, Rouault, I look and find
how parallel your Saviour's eyes


in her poems
(the poet's precious mother
gone not too long ago)
these five-liners tell us
of darkness swallowed


an all-night
the world turns
into a gray gutter


my granddaughter
passing out Jews for Jesus
God, she says, protected her
from an angry subway woman


I never
called those long Zen years
a nightmare
only in midnight thoughts did
the master's stick flail my back


trying to imitate
my e-mail pal's surrealist
I end up jabbing my eye
with a pink flower from Mars


I walk that narrow road
to the north
sad, is it not? that Basho's
gay mate refused to go along


Sanford Goldstein's tanka collections, six in all, reappear in his recently published Four Decades on My Tanka Road, MET, 2007.