Scott Wiggerman
Currently living in Albuquerque, NM, United States
Bio: Poet, teacher, editor, artist, haikuist, and publisher Scott Wiggerman is the author of three books of poetry, Leaf and Beak: Sonnets, Presence, and Vegetables and Other Relationships; and the co-editor of two volumes, Lifting the Sky: Southwestern Haiku & Haiga (2013), and Earthsigns (2017), an HNA anthology.
Website: http://swig.tripod.com
Email: Scott Wiggerman
Audio:
one hit wondering how it came to this
the chilly silence of snow angels
Third Place, Maya Lyubenova International Haiku Contest 2024.
closed clinic
another choice
terminated
final clearance
family keepsakes
bagged for Goodwill
searching for stars
broken cottonwood twigs
on the path
Frogpond 46.3, Autumn, 2023.
deadheading
the bird of paradise
rainbow's end
Modern Haiku 54.1, Winter, 2023.
pockmarked moon
the dermatologist
scans for cancer
First Frost, Number 4, Fall, 2022.
mariposa syllables flit out of my mouth
Whiptail, Issue 4, August 2022.
in flight
unfolding geometrics
of cranes
Scarlet Dragonfly Journal, May 31, 2022.
five ink runs--
the raven print
not black enough
Kingfisher, Number 3, April, 2021.
moths
with holes in their wings
nursing home
she blooms
before my eyes
paperwhite
Haiku Canada Review, Volume 15, Number 1, February, 2021.
white lies
the hidden dangers
of black ice
Failed Haiku, Volume 6, Number 64, 2021.
always one fencepost ahead canyon wren
Hedgerow, Number 132. 2020.
counting out
five syllables
coronavirus
behind the mask: haiku in the time of covid-19, Singing Moon Press, 2020.
at just
the right distance
mountain snow
Hedgerow, Number 130. 2020.
summer vacation
counting down blossoms
on the moonflower
binge-watching
a season of clouds
all afternoon
sudden flapping
a field of wildflowers
erupts from rest
I can't remember
the word for the pink flowers
swifts skirt the surface
hornworm
doing the wave
itself
Haiku Canada Review 13.1, February, 2019.
suspended
in the amber sky
a dragonfly
rosary beads
between his fingers
I hear the prayer
Presence 61. 2018.
another winter counting the leaves left
thin ice on the pond
how close I am
to breaking
airport pre-screening
the small gift of keeping
my shoes on
mushroom cloud
before Los Alamos
just a shape
dog-eared page
when you stopped
loving me
Modern Haiku 47.2, Summer, 2016.
saucer-shaped clouds
hover over the mountain
I want to believe
cattails, beginning-year edition, January, 2016. Editor's Choice.
impending buds
yellow with caution
we cross the border
what binds us
a single blossom left
on the crepe myrtle
Frogpond 38.1, Winter 2015.
in from the cold
the aloe on our porch
and its spider
peppermint sticks
and old men with canes
brittle season
over and over
a lone fisherman
casts his dreams
only when he flies
do you understand:
scissortail