3/8/07:
Coughing my heart out
as they say in the clichés.
Haiku can't happen.
(Except of course from
you, who still have, I trust, both
heart and poetry.)
10/8/07:
Chill nights and warm days.
Oh Spring you are a teaser
blowing hot and cold.
17/8/07:
I turn off the light.
Curling against the cushions,
cats and man sleep deep.
19/8/07:
Peru Haiku
I would go back there
to Peru of the earthquakes
while the Andes stand.
The buried Inca
begin to stir in their graves.
The mountains rumble.
Far from the rubble
of shattered city buildings
soars the great condor.
24/8/07:
Waves gun-metal grey
and the clouds sitting heavy.
A cramped horizon.
***
Cosmo has gone but
for me his imprint lingers
all over Kingscliff.
31/8/07:
After the eclipse
the moon seemed brighter, cleaner.
I lifted wide arms.
***
At night we hear it,
the hushed rumble of the surf
pouring and pouring.
***
I watched the eclipse.
Later that night a message
that old friends had died.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2007
