13 April 2014

april haiku etc batch1.

Blue sky but a bitter wind, the click of the door as my coffee comes out to greet me

Small children thrilled that it is raining and sunny at the same time, everywhere the brightness of daisies

the nature of reality / the reality of nature

Just across the water, the tumultuous honking of free-jazz geese

Softly, apologising to those we call weeds


the small of my back

april sun

Clinging to the wing mirror, all the white knuckles of the spider

I find the puppy sitting under the garden tap waiting for me to get there

The books I wanted to write I have given them all away

Emerging from the helxine, a small green beetle, minding its own business 

Translating my haiku into English, an empty snail shell rattles from the broom

"I hate ... " written on the girl's t-shirt, but what she hates is hidden by her arm

received wisdom -

i refuse to sign

for it

Plucked a weed, how quickly it withdraws into the earth the pink which end of a worm

Dig, keep digging, to let out more winter darkness

Hopping from page to page no bird in the book looks like the one I saw earlier

The puppy barks his breath onto the window, they've gone past now

One minute before eight the sound of a chainsaw cuts through the morning

It's late afternoon before the sun comes out a biscuit sneaked from the tin

we go down to the allotment, watch the day moon become the moon

our new asparagus on the tip of my tongue the word tilth



1 March 2014


on my way back from the river, two pretty girls stop me, ask if they could give me a Bible pamphlet / spring sunshine, winter chill



the man has brought breakfast down to the river / sliced white for the ducks and geese, a can of lager for himself


bare tree

at the river's edge, a bare tree like a tuning fork and its rippling reflection / C#



in the grey of relentless rain / his shaved cranium and huge red headphones


rain drop

watching another raindrop form, silver, at the tip of an ivy leaf / any moment i'll go


roof tiles

the roof tiles dark with rain, lumpy with moss / from my black coffee, steam rising



its yellow cover, the curling corners of his homework book / the house is quiet now