Beautifully sympathetic:
rose petals splayed
upon an aged grave.
Endless echoing on a
Blue sunny morning:
Warblers tromboning.
Swallows swooshing
in and out of the awning,
sweet flow of the morning!
Where do flit the sparrows?
Bitting clouds the gray noon
Has darkened narrow.
The last ambulance ride of
her life; the morn
the rose bush pushed first buds.
Left on an easel
tone ground grey, the canvas
of an early spring day.
A slight twinkle by
the pipe wind-chime once his,
Has my dead father come?
Skyping my mother,
Continents away I stare at
How we’ve both aged.
The kettle on the heater
roils and clatters, the daylight
warmth in tatters.
Off my just woke chest
My iPad slides away:
Old man sofa time again!
As we meet we smile,
Old feelings a mirage
After so many miles.
My heart rises clear and
Freshly sapped with youth again…..
Afternoon snooze…..
Rubble of a just done
House fire still smouldering:
Pride that stoked me then.
Sheer lace has been
Dangled around the edge of us;
Love that has endured.
St. Patrick’s Day!
I’m filled with festive memories
Of when I was green.
Words she said,
Taking my arm in the drizzle,
Click with my umbrella.
A flawless lily,
I turn from the desire to
Snap stem and mar it.
The willow is singing
again, a slow old tune
about way back when.
Smiles from a dear
Happy day, wild forsythias
Peaked to full display.
One flowerless stem,
Passion I never pursued
Nor even dared spoke.
The first winds of spring,
My eyes water, my nose runs
And my sinuses cling.
Midsummer Night’s Dream:
The playbill I watch as I
Nudge my scarf tighter.
Zenning what you
Zennned is a zen of your narrowness;
The art of zen.
My Koan…..
Unattached means
You always have another thing you
May attach too.
Facebook spam I most
Detest, one I barely knew
Sent a friend request.
Hortensia Anderson and John Carley….
The pitch black makes
Finding candles impossible!
Both ceiling lights out.
What the haiku length argument is all about….
Playground envy,
Longer or shorter,
Without furthering art any.
The far distant future of haiku….
Length nor style matter not,
All ends bowing
To the muse of good writing.
Are they cheering
invisible marathoners?
Roadside rape blossoms.
Is Caesar or Cinna
being accosted?
Gusty Ides of March winds.
Morning’s called,
The stark lie sunshine has spread
Drives my head deeper in bed.
Spring’s cavorting:
Laughter continuously
Shaking three friends strolling.
A sharp scythe moon!
The chill icy air skim
Of opening the car door.
My broken hearted day;
Spring loved me soft and warm,
Then threw it away.
The Haiku Experiment 