Two Haiku by Rick Hartwell

Luxuriantly

Moss and fern at the swamp’s edge

Sinister welcome

Peregrination

As coastal fog dissipates

Eden named anew

Rick Hartwell is a retired middle school teacher (remember the hormonally-challenged?) living in Southern California. He believes in the succinct, that the small becomes large; and, like the Transcendentalists and William Blake, that the instant contains eternity. Given his “druthers,” if he’s not writing, Rick would rather still be tailing plywood in a mill in Oregon. He can be reached at rdhartwell@gmail.com.

Butterflies Return by Rick Hartwell

Outside to catch a mental breath, salt air,

embraced within sand dunes of summer;

soaring masts of eucalyptus edge the bay,

murky waters tinged blue by reflected sky.

Monarchs decorate the brown needle mattress,

under the pine trees, sloping down to the sea;

an exhausting flight from the heart of Mexico,

veins of gold now match California poppies,

Many of their fellow travelers still commune

drunkenly within the tree heights, imbibing

sips of sunlight and sap until dropping to the

ground, sated, joining the others in prayer.

Orange and black wings folding up, down,

pulsing celebration, eventual sober exercise.

It's a small grove, but famous for all that,

advertised far by the Pacific Grove C of C.

The Chamber couldn't resist the money

to be made in the rhythm of nature and

Monterey Bay becomes turbulent in the

late afternoon of poppies and butterflies.





Rick Hartwell is a retired middle school (remember the hormonally-challenged?) English teacher living in Moreno Valley, California. He believes in the succinct, that the small becomes large; and, like the Transcendentalists and William Blake, that the instant contains eternity. Given his “druthers,” if he’s not writing, Rick would rather be still tailing plywood in a mill in Oregon. He can be reached at rdhartwell@gmail.com.

Stroll by Rick Hartwell

Short walk on the beach

stray white tern feather

realizing that somewhere

flies an unbalanced bird

compensating the loss

a flight feather reborn.

Short walk on the beach

piece of broken glass

bright colored polished

by tumultuous breakers

sharp edges rounded

sand couching the gem.

Short walk on the beach

drying broken branches

pounded and polished

sun-bleached journeys

from distant coastlines

individualized stories.

Short walk on the beach

three treasures gathered

each with a story to tell

with enough imagination:

feather, glass, driftwood –

telling what lies out there.

Rick Hartwell is a retired middle school (remember the hormonally-challenged?) English teacher living in Moreno Valley, California. He believes in the succinct, that the small becomes large; and, like the Transcendentalists and William Blake, that the instant contains eternity. Given his “druthers,” if he’s not writing, Rick would rather be still tailing plywood in a mill in Oregon. He can be reached at rdhartwell@gmail.com.