North Carolina

I realized I keep kinda writing these little haikus about my home state. I went ahead and just...combined them all. An ode to North Carolina :)

I would eagerly accept any comments. Please be aware I have gone with the "real" definition of haikus - that is, the 5-7-5 format is simply a "guideline." None of the lines will exceed 5-7-5, but some will have fewer syllables. The point of a haiku, after all, is simplicity, and adding a word just to fit in an extra syllable or two seems to defeat the purpose, haha.

"Haikus for North Carolina"

Thunder rolls--a dark,
heaving August dragon crawls
flaming toward sunset.


Last night's rain drifts
Heavenward, an old ghost
from the asphalt.


A ceiling of milk
tempts and teases, but
curdles, and sours.


A drop of water
seduces but leaves earth
parched as paper.


Moments before dusk:
silence fills the hollows
along the Blue Ridge.


We spend a summer
on edge--translating breezes
into hurricanes.


By night, the anger
of wet branches; by morning
just drizzles and wind.


A line of thick thieves,
rain-laden and steaming, lurks
into the rising night.

Thought

Oh, the process of writing. What joy, what fun.

How do you feel about the phrasing in the second stanza? Do the sentence fragments work?
Does the third stanza make any sort of sense? I worry it just sort of hangs there....comments appreciated.
How do you feel about imagery overall?
What section is the strongest/weakest? Why?

"Meditation on Thought"

Begin the quiet storm of fidgeting,
metronome-pen beating—
a drum, a drum:

Tempestuous—tearing
fingers through hair,
black eyes
crawling along
the insides of my lids.

My mind grows scrublands.
"What do you mean?" and,
"What do I mean?"

I tend slowly toward the abstract.
Pine trees sprout from my hair,
a forest of church steeples.
Whippoorwill am I,
chestnut-child Evangeline,
and my fingers stretch
architectonic
to build me bridges of stone,
a whole cathedral of bone archways.
My Michelangelo eyes sit restless
in a face of white and green marble.

The smallest drop of rain
against the window
and my thoughts collapse—
I must begin again.

There is a secret
fingernail-screeching
as the drops of water
roll down the glass. 

Equinox

This one was...interesting. I hope you like it. More funny business to do with identity, but it kinda ended up getting split into two people.

I'd love the usual comments on:
imagery - how well it flows, how strange it is, etc
sentence structure - I fear the presence of run-on sentences
phrasing - I've really gotten stuck in this "I am/we are" rut and it's starting to annoy me :( Thoughts?

"Equinox Lovers"

We come into being twice a year—
a balance of shadow and fire,
a half-lit moon face
pale blue and reflecting a still sun.

Sunflower faces follow me
westward, an ember
dying in a flame of thunderclouds.
Resonant and careful I am,
my molecules built on changing shapes.

You say to me,
"You're too young to be so shy,"
so I stand up and take your hand.

I am a glacier quivering atop cliffs
overlooking the North Atlantic,
but you exhale and
set me to smoking—

blowing candle flames free
like dandelion seeds.
We've learned to keep our breath
cool and slow,
draw it out steady to catch the wish
with a last puff.

We are a pair of Arctic winds
howling down Norwegian coasts,
flopping like fish into open hands.

I am a freshwater salmon—
cook me gentle, peel back my scales
and pull away my pink flesh
with a fork.

I've sought loves like evergreens,
whole forests of pine sap
at the midpoint of summer and winter,
at the crash of seasons
like waves on cliffs.

You are my old woman
speaking
to a silent theater
of all the Adams and Eves
and all their countless generations,
palm against creased palm,

a paragon of quiet
and falling evening—
the measured equilibrium
from my wrist to my thigh.

"Hush, now,"
you say to me,
"you're much too young to be so shy,"
so I take your outstretched hand
and close my eyes.

With a whisper I send
the night's first eleven stars
into the sky.