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MidWinter

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Dry brittle straw stands

Last testament of Summer

Sister’s spiteful touch

 

 

Cold snout blows fine dust

Warthog begs on scaly knees

Any tender shoot

 

 

Brown on grubby brown

Hornbill slashes at the earth

Putter lost his ball

 

 

Grey kwêvoël sits high

Desolate against dull sky

Crying “Go away!”

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Frank Tassone is hosting at dVerse today and he’s challenging us to write a haiku sequence using a minimum of three haiku.

I love reading haiku, but avoid writing it as I always feel clumsy and inept.

Finding Gravity

4 Comments

Ever watching
protocol, procedure, posture
(like the fair lady ‘liza),
there’s no way in
to
the in crowd
and no way
to guarantee
residence.

Retreat
is the only answer
that echoes
through the empty skull
but,
no matter,
she keeps knocking
her head
up
against the door.

Cool
to march
to your own drum
(they say),
however,
a chill is all she gets.

The moon cries
second fiddle
(the cat’s on top)
to Sol,
around whom everyone revolves.

To be
always the passenger,
dragged along,
reflecting days gone by,
is a place of
anonymity.

Yet,
she has a singular name,
engraved on the palms of a promise.
If she dares
to train her eyes
on the hands of the master
at the core of the charming quark,
she’ll find her gravity.

Threat

2 Comments

No popping machine guns.
No ear-splitting bombs.

A microscopic,
non-living,
completely silent
invader.

Would that this threat
might unite us
in a common fight.

But we spend our days
arguing
about masks.

To Weigh Us Down

8 Comments

He walked with rocks
in his pockets
to keep his feet
firmly on Terra.

But last Tuesday
he forgot
and
(like so much negative mass)
by the time he’d touched
cumulus nimbus
he’d reached escape velocity.

We hope to catch him
on Hubble highlights
next Friday.

 

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A wee bit of silliness.  (Although we all know someone with their head in the clouds!)

Fifty Years Ago

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Fifty years ago
youth was eternal.
Gramma moaned about sore joints,
said “To hell with calories”
and napped whenever and wherever she’d please.

Yesterday
I caught her reflection
in the bathroom mirror.

Today the grocery clerk asked
if I am a pensioner.

Tomorrow
I’m eating chocolate and sleeping in.

 

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They say time flies when you’re having fun.

Changing Season

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How hastily
Summer,
tumbling through days
(filled with cold cider, salty chips and cheery chatter),
leaves us.

Seems but yesterday
we bemoaned the onslaught
of heat and biters
while praising the scent of rain.

Now he leisurely packs his bags,
clothed in a beguiling smile,
preparing to go.

Forgive us our impatient rants
and know this:
we only miss you
when you’re gone.

Empty

8 Comments

Sometimes

romping words tumble and giggle

and fill the atmosphere with wonder

and weightless joy;

everything sings

and the chorus is easy to join.

 

Other times

(like now

and yesterday

and yesterday’s yesterday)

a dry brittleness permeates

even the bones

and breath is heavy as lead.

 

Yet

there is a beauty

in the blunt, black fingers of the dead giraffe thorn

that claw at the cold grey heavens.

There is sanctuary

in the still vastness of winter veld.

Though the sky is rigid

and the ground impenetrable,

there is quiet life

in the space between

earth and firmament.

 

There, in poverty, I discover my heart

and hold the hand of God.

Time Out

4 Comments

Sometimes,

when heaven is closed for lunch,

I find Jesus

sitting on the curb next to me

asking if I want half of his sandwich.

In All Circumstances

1 Comment

Each day a remapping of facial contours,

shifting sands, creeping moss.

I must learn anew this terrain

which once seemed so familiar.

But with little to grasp

I find myself a spectator

waiting for the evening train,

learning to be content

in all circumstances.

In My Father’s House

5 Comments

When I leave
do not speak of me
in the past tense;
do not offer saintly eulogies.

I was here,
but a daisy in Namaqua season,
face to the sun,
partaking in offered grace.

Tell rather of the one
for whom the heavens sing
and remember me
in my father’s house.

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