Richard Wright’s haiku
 
warm me better than a fire
 
on an icy day.

 
 
 

Labor Day’s bad news:
 
ashes from a nearby fire
 
rain down on my car.

 
 
 

First days of summer—
 
California hillsides blaze
 
with unholy fire.

 
 
 

Chilly April day—
 
my old, arthritic tabby
 
snoozes by the fire.

 

 
 
 

kneading the bread dough
 
putting more wood on the fire—
 
sacred daily paths

 
 
 

Though I dance like fire,
 
the pear tree did not teach me,
 
neither did the plum.

 
 
 

While my plum tree blooms,
 
a dog without a collar
 
sniffs the fire hydrant.

 
 
 

The next-door neighbors,
 
just home from Cuba, kindle
 
a fresh fire of oak.

 
 
 

The mercury drops—
 
I reach for another log
 
to lay on the fire.

Hillsides

 
 
 

Fire-ravaged hillsides
 
all over California
 
weep with winter rain.