Modern Haiku (1 of 5)


(Credit: Matthew Hamilton on Unsplash)


Forty-one storeys

Flashing glass and raw concrete

Pride of the city



Autumn Aesculus Horse Chestnut Tree Orange Fall


I spend a long time in the park stuffing my pockets, and on the way back, I buy several boxes of matches at the kiosk.

It is time for undersized horses and oversized ants. It is time for hedgehogs and spiders to be friends.

It is time for chestnut animals.


Late Summer Sunshine


(Credit: Richard Harris on Unsplash)

The phlox gush over the edge of my terrace in a waterfall of light blue and lilac. The chrysanthemums stretch out their first petals to the world, as I eat the last strawberry.

It is deceptively sunny.

However, the wind chills the nose and makes it attempt to run away to warmer climates, and I know that without my sheepskins I would be shivering. Still, I sit in my garden and soak in the golden rays, quietly bidding them farewell and hoping that spring will come early.

Tap Tappa Tap

Rummaging through some old poems again, I found this one, which I found rather sweet.

Tap tappa tap

Music plays

A breeze blows

And he taps his feet


Chirpy chirp chirp

She whistles

Dark clouds gather

And birds sing in the bushes


Drip, drip, patta patta pat

They laugh and seek refuge

Hair clings

And the rain comes plunging down.

In a Cold Iron Box

I found an old poem today which mentioned a cold iron box with a porcelain lock, and I really liked that image. It made me write this little poem.



In a cold iron box

With porcelain locks,

I kept my most terrible secret.

But time broke the locks,

And rust ate the box,

And now I don’t know where to keep it.


I could ask the bees

Or maybe the trees,

But the leaves would whisper to the wind.

And just like the trees,

Every one of the bees

Would tell, and by you I’d be skinned.


Two small Eerie Ones (2 of 2)


Hand on the windowpane,

I look in at the stranger on the sofa.

Her empty eyes are turned to the solid-white sky.

Are there any thoughts behind that blank stare?

I shiver.

Then with a jerk, I am in the sofa,

Inhabiting the head turned towards the clouds.

I look down and see unfamiliar hands writing.

Two small Eerie Ones (1 of 2)


(Credit: Luke Braswell on Unsplash)

The painting reminds me of the Mona Lisa.

A woman sits in the foreground.

A smeared landscape behind her.

A slight blush in her cheeks.

She is very naturalistic.

I have heard that some people do not like pictures like the Mona Lisa.

They are bothered by how the eyes seem to follow one around.

However, the eyes in this portrait do not follow me anywhere.

They only follow my sister.


Life Stirred (4 of 4)


(Credit: David Cohen on Unsplash)

I should appreciate it when life stirs

I should take the opportunity to whisper in its ear

Or let it stroke my hair

But I really need my eight hours of sleep

Life Stirred (3 of 4)


(Credit: Madi Doell on Unsplash)

They lay like dead on silk sheets

A mosquito landed on a bare buttock and life stirred

However, it was not enough for a resurrection


Life Stirred (2 of 4)

She wove reed-fingers

Into baskets for carrying her withered roses

A bud blossomed as life stirred

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