water behind
wheels
dancing
16th November ‘09 – Chado
Archive for the 'Haiku' Category
haiku 16.11.09
Published November 16, 2009 Best Of , Chado , Descriptive , Haiku , Poetry , Written at Chado Leave a Comment
but tonight
the rain
September ‘07
her breath
over my voice
white birds
—
i and the rock
stillness
slowly worn away
July ‘07
suds, dishes
dark window
i sing to my reflection
the pebbles
mirror to the sky
so crisp
my senses
took off without me
mosquito
clap
drinking from the sun
my tired bones
and a butterfly
carefully folded tissue
memento
mist moments
missed moments
between a kiss and this
the sum of all things
your touch
May ‘07
Eavesdropping on the tinny music from next-door’s radio, I lie under the open window and read haiku as I wait for him. The thought of his face slips into my mind and I fidget for a moment before being forced to sit up and look out by the gently urgent feeling he is approaching.
new house
waiting for you
to fill the space
January ‘07
I adjust my hat, foiling the wind, and stare against the glint of the sun on the water. I can’t see any fish – but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any. Seagulls call; my nose is filled with salt, air and bait. Clouds gambol and rocket across the sheet of blue in slow motion. My father handles the hooks, then hands me my baited line, swinging half-threateningly from the bright red reel. I drop the line with a satisfying plunk, shattering the sun-pattern on the surface of the sea. Hypnotised, I watch the sinker twiddle and twirl as it disappears into the deep green, dancing to the depths. Dad begins to sing a loud and familiar sea shanty. Eyes fixed on nothing in particular, I grin and hum along. The world sparkles in tune.
long day
of dad, daughter and fish
salt and sun
February ‘06
small phone buzz
ominously cheerful
‘exacerabate’
isn’t a word!
bubble giggles
still feel empty
just after eating
you’re not here
car writing
dirt road
regresses years
sweeping smell of salt
endless, boundless blue
slight chill
too long sitting
knees groan
imprinted skin
now a sister
she’s big enough
to take care of him too
new neighbourhood
this one trimmed round the edges
like sandwiches without a crust
op shops
smell like
memories and desperation
after you’ve gone
waking up
the morning’s breathing
