Michael Dylan Welch

Michael Dylan Welch runs National Haiku Writing Month and the Seabeck Haiku Getaway. He cofounded the Haiku North America conference, and served two terms as poet laureate of Redmond, Washington. He has published his haiku, tanka, and longer poems, as well as reviews and essays, in hundreds of journals and anthologies in at least 22 languages.

His website is www.graceguts.com.

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► Michael Dylan Welch's microchaps & poems are available below. Download the single-page PDF by clicking the title & saving to your pc.

Origami Microchap
Year of Rain
Click title to download PDF microchap Cover from author •	January rain— a pebble shaken from my shoe February rain— a hooker at the corner takes off her ring March rain— my teenage daughter tries on new glasses	October rain— shin guards in the laundry basket November rain— elbow grease gets the stain out December rain— my daughter kisses me on the chin Michael Dylan Welch © 2025
Star Wheel
Click title to download PDF microchap Cover: Primrose Path Doily • Each haiku in this sequence was inspired by the name of a crochet pattern. With gratitude to Alice Frampton and Patricia Emel. °°°	flower show— a crocheted doily under each pot late-morning quiet— a dusting of pollen on the wedding table bridal reception— the queen anne’s lace still unarranged flowered latticework— the plein air painting lacks the arachnids long-weekend getaway— the star-wheel embroidery still unfinished clearing skies— I look up “marquesa” in my computer dictionary the harpist’s sigh . . . bridesmaid’s bouquet askew on the head table hands up! the bride’s bouquet in mid air pulling daisy petals . . . the country church bell down for repairs Texas diner— the tip jar filled with pesos pomp and circumstance the giggling kindergartner trips on her robe heavy garbage can— sweet clover from here to the lane prairie flower— your sketch of just its fallen petal *	aching thumb— bumblebee yellows the swatter arching Frisbee— a leafy bower hides the garden doorway the “Old Louisiana” crochet pattern she tells me is hers . . . intermittent rain my cavalier remark asking what she’s done all day— steaming lasagna waving here and there over our Birkenstocks, starflowers newly painted trellis— the agent arrives to lift out the Sold sign comatose teenager . . . “Happy New Year” whispered in her ear gentle lawn sprinkler— the fancy-free first grader twirls in the garden Arabian night— sand ticking the Moorish window impossible to write about— governor’s lady farmhouse wedding— nosegays reflecting in the mantel mirror honeymoon suite— crinoline and velvet fall to the floor snowflake fantasy— the unfinished puzzle pieces swept off the table edge May flowers— a change-of-address sticker on redirected mail April morning— the last page shuts by itself • Michael Dylan Welch © 2020

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