Happy New Year to you all. I bet you didn’t have “READ LAST YEAR’S HAIKU BY TIM EASTON” on your dance card resolutions for January. No worries. I just type stuff into my phone and laptop as the year goes on. Sometimes I scribble them in my journal. I often use the Haiku form to just get started on a thought. If things are overwhelming me, I can just say to myself: “all you have to do is write a Haiku and it doesn’t matter if the syllable count is exactly 5-7-5 because that is not what the Japanese did.”
I do not mean to belittle this incredible art form. I love reading the masters like Basho and marveling at how he went on an immense journey of self-discovery and such, often spending a full season in one meditative spot, and then produced two haiku that summed up every emotion wizened from the experience. I’ll not go on and on about it, because their are dozens of Haiku-esque pieces below, and we all have lives to live. Some of these lines become parts of songs, some are just there to get a rhythm going. I am not reinventing the wheel or even the chair with these pieces. I just write them, and move on. May you and yours have an amazing New Year.
(photo by Judson Baker)
Lots of work ahead…
New Years Day gambling
poker face not holding strong.
Humility lessons.
Thunder cracks boom
when Winter rain is angry.
Meditation is over!
Hot drinks, games, poets
Nighttime at the coffee shop.
Stop writing. Live life.
Caffeinated head
reads, writes, scrolls, questions, answers.
Eventually naps.
South coast Winter rain
Cold winds from the West.
Scarfs in Florida.
Wintertime waves
blue skies over white beaches.
Sticking to the woods.
Exhausted again
Almost happy tired. Wired
on tea, joy, songs, sex.
Martin Luther King
Is celebrated today.
I am six years sober.
Six years no booze, drugs-
some minor bumps with bruises.
Growth? Yes. Finished? No.
David Crosby died.
Just the physical presence.
Buddha giggles.
Life gets too heavy.
Escape seems reasonable.
Book Alaska dates.
Day of anger, pain.
Light is not getting inside.
Dinner with daughter.
Entertaining folks—
strange vocation with speed bumps,
connection, desire.
Dead rock stars galore
remind us of youth when they pass.
Shane MacGowan lives.
(Keith Richards lives!)
Hands down depression
is only mitigated
by lifting hands up
Hungry, angry, tired,
unable to concentrate.
Artificial joy.
People seem to love
artificial art, music.
Was I born skeptical?
Million dollar home
on a dead end country road.
Isolation clouds.
Neruda was murdered
whether by poison or censorship.
Words live eternal.
Romance is fleeting.
Love lust longing loom large
only love remains
Doctors appointment
has fear knocking on my door.
I answer naked.
February slacks
Come easy after hard push
of resolutions.
Slowing output down
to make room for emotions.
How do they escape?
Before the big trip
excitement gets bogged down
with reality
Yesterday’s flight
arrived in the future.
We are down under.
February’s gone
like a bin chicken with lunch.
Try catching a bird.
Australia’s sunshine
does not take a walkabout.
It awaits you.
How cool is Melbourne?
How blue is Lightning Hopkins?
Walk, listen, learn.
You are never lost
when the magpies are singing.
Follow the tune.
Bank breaking my mind
is nobody’s fault but mine.
Anarchy in mind.
Lazy day needed
where nothing at all us done.
Eat, read, sleep, repeat.
Why all the worries
about things you can’t control?
At one point, you could have.
Dogs in the Yarra
swim fine against tight currents.
I have walked too far.
Potters colonies
turn into wealthy suburbs.
Artists settle first.
(After aboriginals, of course)
Joan Didion writes
with surgical precision.
Study the masters.
Happy doing nothing.
Books, bed, food, repeat.
Beach town in the rain.
Eager to be free
of anyone’s instructions.
Airport 4 hours early.
Fifteen hour flight.
That’s six movies easy.
Trapped in window seat.
Running behind
each season like a blind wolf.
Exploding flowers.
Easter is rebirth.
Halloween is re-death.
Both have benefits.
I want everything to crackle
or explode into a song.
Sometimes it just walks.
Paralysed, but not.
I can move. I am writing,
but it’s all from bed.
What brought me here—
to the cave’s entrance,
the abyss?
Action, or lack there of?
Fifty seven years
doesn’t feel as old
as it sounds. Lucky.
Wilco demonstrates
sounds of formerly struggling
men now rocking freely
Canadian flight.
Stewardess speaking French.
Excitement.
I lived and traveled
the world over
and I still love it.
Overnight rainstorm.
Sudden sunshine at coffee shop.
Where you been Britpop?
Rolling through stop signs
balancing pumpkin seeds.
Car crash in the night.
Lucky to be here.
Lucky to be anywhere.
Seconds & inches from death.
Rolling hills, graffiti.
Black cows in fertile meadows.
Switzerland unfolds.
Laughing Italians
on a Southbound train.
Misty mountain rain.
Capitalism
is a salty, dying kiss.
Too much and you spit.
Jet lag is a joy
I wish I woke up each day
with mist in the trees
African woman
at the gate. She smiled.
We spoke of music.
One slip at the pool
brings on the understanding
of old age body pain
Sam “Ligtnin’” Hopkins
concrete heavy emotions
Winter is coming
Three squirrels frolic
In the yard. They know nothing
about Hunter Tim
Two feet of snow fell
in Anchorage last night
Plans for Spring begin
I have a crush
on a conservative Christian.
Satan is grinning.
Mance Lipscomb plays chords
not taught in books or on streets
of my youth
The car accident
knocked me sideways at first.
Then forward.
Beckett arrives just
when he is supposed to.
When you are older.
Is there a fake book
for relationships?
Watch out for key changes.
Thanksgiving head cold
plus dry cough, fever, aches, pains.
Gratitude for life.
Hands up if you
have been broken up with
but then asked for sex
Shit has just changed.
I get chocolate. Angry
it’s vegan. Enjoy immensely.
If I see some rule
that is involved with making art
I must break it.
Antisemitism
is everywhere in America.
Somewhere love assists.
Mississippi John Hurt
takes me on a journey
away from darkness
Addictions are jokes
until you wake up crippled
with fear, pain, anguish
I plan daily haiku
then forget for weeks
then play obvious catch up
One sentence per day
unlike one Haiku per day,
is doable, barely
Wintertime simply
is not aggressive down South.
Cardinals are laughing.
Shane MacGowan lives
on in songs, stories, bar tabs.
Forever searching.
Roots musicians
grounded in history.
Remember when Devo
covered The Stones?
Forever watching Shane
fall down the stairs
with a suitcase full of bottles.
Two nights interrupted.
Awake before the sun comes up.
Sex dreams. Not too bad!
Mance Lipscomb sings
from my parents big speakers.
Eternal back beat.
Infinite projects
begin with one tilt of the head.
Love life; help others.
Monday sunshine
chores await. Internet too.
Coffee first. Then walk.
The second to last
Friday of the year brings joy,
traffic, stress, release.
The world is bigger
than you ever imagine
thinking about yourself.
The South is difficult
to explain, contain, remaining
loyal to emotion.
My song list is long
I comb it before I play
hoping for the change up
Exercise or loaf?
Addicted to step counting.
As good as it gets.
Too much on the plate.
Some obligations bring joy.
Must walk in the woods.
I have accomplished
a lot of work in bed.
Not a metaphor.
Daughter told a friend
she wants to be a writer.
I was proud, frightened.
Recording two hours
to provide a song for you.
Hoping for smiles.
Carolina girls
in the house. Toilet clogged.
Had to shit in crick.
Friends, food, guitar love,
stories, jokes, sunshine giggles.
Birds don’t fly alone.
Lunch meeting, new friend.
Discussed family, songs, guitars.
Almost old friends now.
Morning pages, tea,
cream, honey, poems, stretching out.
Solid day ahead.
Scatter my ashes
throughout Spain and Alaska.
Take your time. Eat well.
Here’s what we do know:
Short term memory is shot.
What do we know?
Catastrophic friends
speak in hyperbole
every now and then
A man is dying
that does not have to die:
Alcoholism
Morning explodes with
low, fast moving clouds.
My friend may die soon.
No regrets. no fear.
Ridiculous expressions.
All of us have both.
January’s face
froze in place this bleak morning.
Life is underneath.
Hold a good friend close.
Give them everything you have.
Dead flowers blow away.
Exhaustion is real
sloppy with dull punches.
Just lay down right now
Old drunk friends wander
to the barn loft in my dreams.
Jump out the window.
Train whistles at night
remind me of hobo times.
Now I sit happy, still.
One town, three bookstores,
four cats, five memories.
One guitar, one church.
Deep ocean awaits
all troubles, desires, dreams.
Disappearing act.
Tik-Tok famous
means nobody will know you
tomorrow
Technology woes
cripple crush destroy creation.
Walk in the woods
Black dog has me under.
Solution is to run
or bow and walk
Improvisation
is not a secret weapon
until it exists
Good morning Melbourne
magpies sing R2D2.
Your future awaits
Australian coast
smashes cold waves in the face.
Flat white coffee now!
A man discovers
he can no longer walk.
You can, so begin.
Wouldn’t it be nice
if constant reminders
kept us living free
Five weeks in Alaska.
Fifty pounds of fish.
Difficult re-entry.
Take a break today
I know that you need one
Just look at your life
Switzerland, Italy
another journey. My journal
overflows again.
I bought a journal
in the Zurich airport.
Abandoned in Tennessee.
Words are good, yes.
Feelings are important.
What is for lunch?
Mushroom coffee
will not change the world just yet.
Will anything?
Japan plans on table
Excitement
Nothing more to add
Return to Elk River
Stunning sunset, full moon rising.
Zero fish caught.
Christmas songs
interrupted by gun violence
with advertisements
What is New Years Eve
if not memories, then fear.
Did we love enough?