I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world, to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

31 August 2008

Sunlight and green leaves: haiku and things for Augst 2008


Sunlight and green leaves
the morning fresh and shining
outside my front door.

I look no further
than the view from my front door,
forgetting heaven.


This sunny morning
my fifteen-year-old potplant
has shiny new leaves.


The wind blew the clouds
into bright white angel wings
this warm afternoon.


In my sunny sky
new moon and solar eclipse
are invisible.


After some silence
you write that I am a song.
All day I'm singing.


Suddenly sunshine
still with a faint edge of cold
fills the morning sky.


Suddenly sunshine
with just a faint edge of cold
filling up the sky.


A field of corn rows

The further we go
side by side in parallel
the more we converge.


Lady of moonlight
who dances across the dew
you lighten our space.


Softer than moonlight
a wind like the rush of wings:
transparent shimmer.


Cucumber plant

Blooming in darkness
behind a sun-coloured pot
tiny yellow stars.


Frosty night up late
alone with my two cats
huddled shivering.


After the frost
the dawn of a clear day
the sky cloudless.


A time of extremes
warming one side of the globe
the other freezing.


Full moon and bright star
the night suddenly warmer.
I bathe in white light.


On nights of full moon
her silvery voice whispers
poems in my ear.



On these frosty nights
only the cats to curl up
sharing body heat.


Spanish Fiesta

Fireworks and costumes
elderly ladies dancing
to rockers' guitars.


In winter I walk
on a wild and lonely beach
gathering shells.


Dobbing in Hubby: senryu sequence

Elbow in the back.
Not my favourite waking.
Accident, he says.

New water bottle
dribbles all over his face.
He opened it wrong.

How can I tell him,
"In age, slowness is wisdom.
Do things mindfully!" ?

"Oh, poop to you too,"
he says when I read him this.
But he's laughing hard.

I rescue his plate
parked on the bed and tilting,
just before milk spills.


As I grow older ...

People around me
seem confused, acting strangely.
I'm hurt and puzzled.

(Don't panic, folks; it's not autobiographical!)


Such tangles behind
the only way is forward
through those dark thickets.


A MySpace challenge

syllable pattern 4-6-4
begin each verse with “after the storm”

after the storm
at first only silence
and no movement


after the storm
stillness lifts softly, birds
begin singing


1:05 a.m.

Already it’s Friday.
Bed now, to dream of haiku
and wake up to them.

When a dragonfly
goes to sleep in its last dream
it wakes as faery.


Here, our warm autumn
is not a dying season;
it’s rare that leaves fall.
The air itself seems golden,
summer departing slowly.

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