write haiku on fridays

^{I haven’t written any haiku for months, but Friday I was trapped in a rainy day café for a couple of hours and found a pen in my purse. The envelope I scribbled on is covered in little words.}

One forgotten book
One forgotten camera
(But I have this pen…)


*


The rust in my ink
Lends a densely flecked sparkle
Where the words run thin.


*


Chilled November dawn
Rises white, steam from black tea
Heat startles my lips.


*


Waking on a bus
To her butterfly fingers
Landing on the pole.


Hand painted flutters
At the edges of girlhood
Chipped and delicate.


*


Barista’s lament:
Half a cup of joe, cream filled
With greedy cat paws.


*


The thin silver sound
Of five dimes chimes delightful
Small glass gratitudes.


*


On warm pumpkin walls
Small paintings of winter scenes
Are café windows.


*


Polka dots echo
The waterlogged world outside;
Cling fast to fresh glass.


*


Espresso trumpets
Fill the empty coffee house
With sweet liquid brass.


*


Lake surface faces
Shiver where the wind blows past,
Slip beneath red leaves.


*


We miss the heron
Familiar blue smudges, gone
No final ripple.


*


Wings sweep the cobwebs
As eager ceiling sparrows
Boldly take first flight.


*


Thoughtless, we steal words,
Press them into our own looms
With side winding tongues.


*


Neon spiderwebs
Bright light seeps through windshield glass
Accidental art.


*


Red wing blackbird flies
Wings spread in an arc of flame
A bruise on the sun.


*


He won’t be the boy
That magnifies the sunshine
Turning ants to ash.


*


She reads fairy tales
To her pale, hollow belly;
Dreams of golden thread.


*


Grandma’s teacup waits
Thin, fragile as rabbit bones
We pour carefully.


*


Searching for sunlight
Memories pound against me
Moths on frosted glass.


*


Grief surfaces fresh
With the death of your mother
Pale bones in black dirt.


*


Thoughts spiral, aimless
Drag themselves awake slowly
Winter weather wasps.


*


I wait for the sound
Of your muddy, hard worked boots
Your back home kisses.


*


These constellations;
Scars and landmark memories
We mark on our maps.


*


Pause. A slow breath gift
Gives reluctant importance
To tiny moments.


*


“Walk, shepherdess, walk…”
I remember the brightness;
Her voice in the dark.


*


Where is the wild girl?
Legs rapid and hair tangled
She turned like a phrase.

This first day of spring
March is tightening the drum
As tense buds soften.

*

Fish, frozen midstream
Shift under green stayed ripples
Drops christen the thaw.

*

On tepid tiptoe
Clawed feet till damp garden soil
—Rainwater bathtub.

*

Mining the lining
Of coal toned clouds for silver;
Of sad days for salt.

*

Two swimming pool blues
Centers dark as black coffee
Sound golden trumpets.

*

Solid silver snake
Slithers sideways so shyly
Swift shifty shining.

*

The curve of a cat
Rolls across midday sunshine
A dark silken stain.

*

Through ground level glass
Voyeuristic daffodils
Watch us intently.

*

His words are such that
I nod as a hummingbird
Hovers near his lips.

*

The heart of a fruit
Holds the pit of potential
When stripped of sweetness.

Chartreuse dress moves slow
On the line, between breezes
Missing your pale skin.

*

Their love, a tough thing
Pulls apart like a zipper
Melds like tempered glass.

*

Jewels flee the street
Catwalk ice, less than subtle
Slips away in spring.

*

Two loose button eyes
You can’t hold things together
With threadless needles.

*

On a creeping cloud
There comes such a soft sadness
A breath of lost grief.

*

Some regrets linger
That sweet one you never kissed
When youth still grazed slow.

*

Your hand lands softly
Butterfly knife shoulder blades
Flutter in low light.

*

Brushes and water
Your magnum opus remains
Imperceptible.

*

She hardly noticed
These ordinary daisies,
The yawn of a cat.

*

With expectant eyes
You place an uncut diamond
In-between my lips.

Slices of sunlight
Echo deep in the puddles
Restless and dazzling.

*

I sketch my own ghost
Inside the iron spiral
Blood thick as a thief.

*

Fresh as a new blade
Cutting through my lemon mind
Pushed against my grain.

*

Bricked up escape hatch
Glockenspiel rings in my head
The mallet comes down.

*

Diluted nightmare
Foolish under 60 watts
Dense as witch water.

*

Winter diamond mine
Shadows trace our late night skin
Breath breaks the silence.

*

I lie underground
Pale and still as colours shoot
Up through the damp soil.

*

Long after I’m gone
I hope someone will bring me
Abandoned wild blooms.

*

Hand on the door knob
Eyes, a still life of flowers
You turn one last time.

*

The trees in the woods
Bend like widows in the wind
That blows light away.

*

Slogging through mind mud
Insight lands like a white bird
On wiser shoulders.

*

Spring knocks at the door
She’s the one in the green dress
That used to be white.

^{Whiny Friday flu haiku I wrote last week and neglected to post}

Such sweet vicious red
Syrupy pools in cool spoons
Not good on pancakes.

*

Hacking up my soul
It lies, a forlorn tadpole
Limp on the carpet.

*

Body aches whining
I feel worse than Bukowski
On a New Years floor.

*

A burr in my throat
Crinkles the midnight silence
Scares the sheep away.

Forgotten Fridays
Syllabic eyes implore me
Fingers turn new keys.

*

Scuffed blue cowboy boots
Aim towards January skies
Tight fingers warm chains.

*

Sugared violets
Topped a buttery white cake
The day I turned 5.

*

Fusty old suitcase
Full of faded devotions
Leather smooth as skin.

*

His mouth is turned down
A wet umbrella frowning
In this miscast rain.

*

I wake wondering
If I’ve been shot in the head
Pain fills my pillow.

*

Exhaled from your mind
Sour as a whimpered breath
- Another nightmare.

*

Stranger flutes at play
Thin red snakes around your wrist
Your saddest bracelet.

*

A slide projector
Shines obsessively bright through
Dark quiet stories.

*

Your heart; a penny
Thin from the weight of the trains
Some luck remains yet.

*

Take another breath
Consciousness hooked like a fish
Ripples send ripples.

*

Going past the eyes
Music, braille, soap and brandy
Make for fine reading.

*

These white and grey days
Brush across my longing for
The paint box of Spring.

*

We’re still raw with awe
Hearts indistinguishable
Beat a tandem drum.

*

Smoky low and sweet
Hanging by the sunbeams there
Fresh dreams and wishes.

A full moon floats high
Like the ghost of an oyster
Over virgin snow.

*

Young fireflies pause
At the pale edge of moonlight
Resting for a spell.

*

Clean, new cities wait.
“Hush” ashy snowflakes whisper
“You mustn’t dig deep”.

*

First snow, a dusting
Before the rain comes again
Flakes ripple and drown.

*

Finally in bed
Droll harmonic eardrums hum
A chauffeur to dreams.

*

Watered down sunsets
Like rainy day chalk drawings
Cling to thick black boots.

*

Quiet new sun climbs
Thin bedsheets poured like skim milk
Across sleepy skin.

Warm beneath the snow
December arches her back
Gilded by sunsets.

*

Should have known better
Buying paper in the rain
Pocket pulp rainbow.

*

Saturday morning
While Billie sings her heart out
We’ll pepper our eggs.

*

Empty hotel room
We do shots with Hemingway
We steal his towels.

*

Created by bones
Wind-chimes tied to the headboard
- Beautiful music.

*

White as frozen cream
He exhales across the grass
Wizening jade blades.

*

Cool morning fingers
Draw swirls on foggy windows
Of vertigo worlds.

*

All live with the hope
That mismatched jigsaw pieces
Someday find a fit.

^{(Extra thanks to Indigo_Divaah for nudging when the words were hiding)}

Cold eats through my coat
Chilled months free ice sculpture moths
They flutter so close.

*

Heads turn, pasties spin
Frothy milkshake can-can skirts
Raise to eyebrow heights.

*

Liz Taylor’s lipstick
Has visited fine places
Red memoirs would stun.

*

Ripe dreams are boiled down
To metaphorical jam
We’ll spread on dark days.

*

10 years of heartbeats
Balance on a rough stone wall
Chewing sassafras.

*

Spitting stars sky high
Ninja watermelons sprout
Behind dark rainclouds.

*

Ankle deep puddles
Full of still ivory skies
I think I hear snow.

Dawn light slips and falls
On too thin November ice
Silence is shuffling.

*

The white chocolate moon
Suckles countless hungry stars
She’s slowly shrinking.

*

Under dim light bulbs
We box in elbow length gloves
Blood shines on the mat.

*

Unhinged thoughts surface
Crates of doves pushed overboard
Float on grey water.

*

Such subtle difference
Between the cuts and splinters
The past leaves behind.

*

Waiting for a ride
Standing out like a sore thumb
Hair full of mad wind.

*

One by one they fell
From my pillow, those feathers
Left lean dreams behind.

*

Rice falls from her hand
And into the white snow bank
Like unnoticed days.