pitter patter rain
drops on glass of the window
reflects on my self
Tag: haiku
Haiku
shape of the rainbow
Payne’s grey cloud ready to pour
cows curled in the field
Night Sky: Hawkmoths, Moonflowers, and Spiders
hawkmoths sip at night
moonflowers bloom under stars
spider primed to strike.
Haiku Inspired by Japanese Culture
last blossoms outside
gifts gather near the Coin Mint
petals on the path
______________________
a pink petal falls
after the cherry has bloomed —
confetti shower
_______________________
wisps of incense smoke
smell of cedar, sound of drum
monks and nuns chanting
___________________
peace and quiet reign
the sound of a butterfly
lichen are breathing
________________
ferns live by maple
stones rest by camellia
air tickles the leaves
___________________
kimono for tea
fragrance of ceremony
whisking green bubbles
____________________
fire, gold, wood, and drum
temple giant leads the chant
Bow. Pray. Bow, now smile
____________________
cherry petals fall
a dusting of snowflakes recalled
cable car rising
___________________
coffee cherry ripe
two green stones wrapped together
bound for china cup
____________________
sunshine and showers
play across the garden stones
a moist wind gusts cool
_________________
morning mist lingers
droplet hangs from cypress leaf
Fuji hides all day
__________________
in the hawk’s garden
a Samurai hunts wild ducks
green leaves grow again
_______________
Samurai wields sword
calligrapher wields brush
west wind wields breath
__________________
from the rocks, a smile
cedar tree bows low with grace
Sayönara, friend
_____________________
Blue Bear stories sing
Teddy’s eyes are firmly fixed
drawn by Shuto’s pen
_______________________
a gin and tonic
fresh energy in liquid
released by the gods
__________________
Hamariku
In garden of hawks
A master has hunted ducks
Green leaves growing strong
Sun
Cherry blossom buds
Osaka to Kyoto
Warmth of rising sun
Natural
Let’s go to Japan
Flowering cherry blossom trees
Green pheasant landscape
Tempting
Does travel tempt you?
Tantalising seduction
Come flying with me.
Travelling now
Where are you going?
Lightening time, warming soon
Green pheasant calling
Travel
Rain falls – a stream born
Poetry flows past a rock
Fresh ink on a page
Birth
The child was born poor,
among sheep, and cranes settling
on holy water
Moving
Moving
(for BKB)
Our kitchen clock has ticked,
time to pack up,
time to clear out,
cardboard boxes,
still life on the living room floor.
A full-stop.
Another paragraph written.
This house has done its work.
Candles burnt.
We were here,
a joint composition,
major and minor keys,
melody,
atonality,
dissonance,
harmony.
Unfinished symphony.
More than poetry.
Infinity of haiku
silent rooms between
characters.
On this stage,
we voiced parts,
fashioned scripts,
co-authors.
I’ve written my way through this house,
stepped beyond the deck,
out into a backyard
to trees and stream
underneath snow.
(Memories in parentheses)
Our kitchen, hearth of home,
chairs, a shrunken table,
furniture that made space grow.
Chicken noodle soup from a can,
potato chips,
grapes,
milk from a carton,
silver spoons,
our last supper.
I don’t know where we’ll eat tomorrow.
Never known the next phrase,
the sentence to come,
the chapter after this,
the story’s conclusion.
Like a hummingbird’s nest,
where we eat, drink, love, grow, sing,
shall we weave together twigs,
plant fibers,
bits of larch leaves,
shall we thread spider silk to bind our nest
together
and anchor
to another forked branch.
To select poems for a reading requires courage
I’m feeling the fear.
I have to decide which poems to read on Friday evening in Ennis County Clare.
I introduce the reading in Poet’s Corner at 8pm.
By then, I must reject most of the poems – especially several with which I’m besotted.
Sitting in my kitchen in Cork, staring at pages, wielding a scissors,
reluctant to plunge pretty poems into recycling
– I need to procrastinate.
Crowd-source the problem.
Ask the opinion of others.
Be open-minded.
Let the Universe decide.
Out-source the angst to my Guardian Angel.
Wish I had only 13 poems fit for human ears.
Maybe I’ll drop a pile of pages over the bannisters – and pick those that land on top.
How the hell can I tell which ones the audience might love?
I’m not going there to please the audience – surely?
It’s not as if I have a book to sell.
[Let them go to Kindle Store]
Integrity, authenticity, veracity
I am an artist – that means I must ignore the urgings of others.
I must purge myself of any impulse to avoid personal responsibility.
I must be true to my self.
Welcome indecision, welcome mixed feelings, hug the living daylights out of discomfort.
Think of all the brazen bastards who’ve never held a haiku, nor snogged a sonnet.
Maybe I’ll crumple 50 into a sack and get a blindfold woman to sink her fingers in?
Trust anything other than myself.
At least it’s only Tuesday.
I thought I had a plan.
Watching you watching
Watching you watching
her play in the swimming pool
a lizard soaks sun
From Bath to Cork with baby Grace 