Eric A. Lohman
Eric A. Lohman lives in Powder Springs, GA. He is a psychiatric social worker, composer, avid cyclist and poet. He works in the emergency department of a large urban medical center, evaluating and assisting the homeless, the chemically dependent and the chronically mentally ill. Much of his poetry reflects his response to and efforts to cope with that reality. He also composes music for orchestra as well as smaller ensembles and solo performance, toward similar ends. He has been active in performing and written arts for 35 years and holds a bachelor’s degree in musical theory and composition from Jacksonville University, Jacksonville, FL.
shinrin yoku—
my mountain bike
enfolds an aspen
Prune Juice March, 2021 #33
blocking carefully
the dancer turns away
from her therapist
Prune Juice March, 2021 #33
spa getaway —
the fix on our marriage
only skin deep
Prune Juice March, 2021 #33
a love supreme—
the long wailing blow
of the coal train
Last Train Home Anthology
straight no chaser—
his loneliness
after divorce
Haiku In Action - Nick Virgilio Writers’ House
Week of Feb25-Mar2
summer winds—
I breathe deeply
into my mask
Haiku In Action - Nick Virgilio Writers’ House
Week of June 1-7
melting the little girl’s ice cream Hiroshima Day
Haiku In Action - Nick Virgilio Writers’ House
Week of Oct 12-18
harvest gathering —
mom passes the turkey
past grandpa’s empty chair
Haiku In Action - Nick Virgilio Writers’ House
Week of Nov. 15-22
to know the ogre
from the pistachio lover —
dad’s eulogy
Failed Haiku May ’21
moment of silence —
the dog’s new toy
loses its squeaker
Failed Haiku May ’21
winter mountain —
my skis slide down
beside me
Failed Haiku May ’21
the dog
lets me out —
quarantine
Failed Haiku May ’21
betting everything
on next year —
helicopter seeds
Failed Haiku May ’21
twelve hour shift —
surfing the wave
of dread
Failed Haiku May ’21
spring planting—
dreams that didn’t survive
the winter
Modern Haiku 52:2
orion’s belt stars —
though trillions of miles apart
they still hold his pants
Tricycle - Buddhist Journal, June’21 contest HM
reading of the will—
I get my father’s
sense of humor
Heron’s Nest Sept.’21
daddy, is that
where all the clouds come from?
power plant towers
Trash Panda — Winter 2021
pumpkin blossoms
great things
to come
Trash Panda — Winter 2021
violets
as a birthday gift —
her new bruises
Akitsu Quarterly: Spring 2022
morning after —
the orb spinner’s web
hangs limp
Akitsu Quarterly: Spring 2022
five beheaded cinderellas after Christmas sale
Failed Haiku #37 January, 2019
country dark...
the stars appear
to twangle
Failed Haiku #36 December, 2018
even the stars have losers brown dwarf
Failed Haiku #36 December, 2018
bits of paper blown by the wind white flutterbys
Failed Haiku #36 December, 2018
touch screen -
the eyes of a child
in juvie
Failed Haiku #32 August, 2018
frozen lake -
I hesitate to break the ice
between us
Failed Haiku #32 August, 2018
smell of the barn at dawn
she nuzzles my hair
as I stoop over her shit
the occasional impatient tap
of a hoof
and the first rays through the crack
as I unfasten the latch and begin
to pull the door aside
she is right beside me
then gathering ourselves
all at once, we heave together -
I pulling back,
she surging forward
faster than light bulbs burst into bloom
Failed Haiku #30 June, 2018
stainless steel
my knife
without sin
Failed Haiku #23 November, 2017
moon shot
another testosterone
injection
Failed Haiku #28 April, 2018
far apart —
it's still the same
moon
Failed Haiku #28 April, 2018
smell of trench foot losing another war
Failed Haiku #28 April, 2018
poetry class I sit on my assonance
Failed Haiku #28 April, 2018
welfare office -
on the waiting room walls
trickle down lights
Failed Haiku #28 April, 2018
last waltz -
this roach I'm flushing
Failed Haiku #28 April, 2018
from tree to tree to tree
the black birds'
p u b
cr aw l
Prune Juice #23, November, 2017
cooking together
on opposite sides
of the sink -
things are strained
between us
Failed Haiku #20 August, 2017
bugs in amber -
the long line to turn into
Volkswagen service
Failed Haiku #20 August, 2017
ginger root
in the family bible a lock
of grandmother's hair
Failed Haiku #20 August, 2017
shift change –
handing off false
hope
Failed Haiku #20 August, 2017
fake news -
the mockingbird
sings
Failed Haiku #19 July 1, 2017
sakura zensen -
first one daughter, then another
schedules her wedding
Failed Haiku #19 July 1, 2017
nude beach we air our differences
Prune Juice #22 July, 2017
sharp grief
cutting yourself
on her name
Failed Haiku #10 Oct. 2016
punch drunk . . .
he hits a few more
hors-de-oeuvres
Failed Haiku #10 Oct. 2016