the-haiku-club

in cold wet streets pasted with leaves, the sun retreats; perseph'ne grieves. silver rain falling leaves sidewalk paved in gold pasted with leaves from borean gales, perseph'ne grieves; the night prevails. cold night coming cats tails curl around their feet from borean gales the sun retreats; the night prevails in cold, wet streets.

Mom's warm apple pie doesn't mask the butterscotch falling with his laugh.

Cumbersome fur all thick and long, overbearing in Spring, brave hand brushes stomach, while Swallows guardedly watch and wait to snatch orange threads to build nests, for their young wait within themselves.

An overcast sky, pierced by rays of golden sun. Warming heart and soul.

when everything else seems backwards- familiar stars

Warmth brightens sky, petals spin around - dresses tangle in legs.

En nuage de lait tu as~pleine lune dans mon thé élu domicile          ♦♦♦♦♦♦ As a cloud of milk full moon ~ in my cup of tea took up residence

There is a place where it must run–the rain. But then I've wondered, where rain comes from and where must it go? Rain, is from the sky, from moody charcoal clouds.  Rain droplets are form there, then hurled into the world like asteroids.  Late night, early morning–more rain and rushing medics.  It's the rainy season and she screams.  Lightening slashed across the night–lighting up the darkness; the delivery room and in the comforts of my home, I can hear thunder.  Thunder, pelleting winds, rain, a nurse coaching her–"Push, breathe, push, almost there."  Rain is ev

   Pastel plains lulling wild horses to dream–    thunder approaches

heavy rain... my wife at the window, hoping for a thunderstorm

30   in soft rain a woodpecker and i work   the perfect last day 29   after the storm a memory of sunset   returns — 28   a crown of light atop an approaching storm   high summer   or   an approaching storm crowned by the setting sun   high summer 27   wings flapping wildly a surprised pigeon slides   down the wet skylight 26   sheets of driving rain drench me in the parking lot   thunderous laughter i can't recall whether it's better to run or walk 25   purple martins dive-bomb a befuddled man   mow another day 24   a firefly ushers me down the darkened path   the show has just begun 2

bee crashlanding - early honey hangover

Because finally My waking life is better Than my wildest dreams

The Journey:  Part Five No destination The journey is everything.  There is no destination after all.  Things have happened that were unexpected that led me away from where I had intended to go.  I have explored the branches of the main path and I have neither regrets nor disappointments from doing so.  I may not have written my novel but I have learned much and gained self-confidence.  Now I have plentiful supplies, and I hoist my sack on to my shoulder and with staff in hand set off again.  The journey never ends. wending path   through landscapes and vistas no end in sight

purple venetian of wisteria float o'er the prow, scattering clouds as you come to me

After bleak winter Cherry blossoms bloom anew. So you will arise.

spring shade - a shy shroud of snow shuns sunshine

Listen those sounds which exalt crepuscular wing between sleeping and awaking

     her spring dress... a pose of white and pink breeze    - apple blossoms

spent raindrops fumble for purchase on slim branches weighed down by new blossom buds. water slips, patters against the soggy soil. earthworms scatter from the birds. a sleeping dog lies, heavy bundles of wrinkles around its loosely shut eyes. his wooden bed, his porch stands above the green lawn lifting away from the wet. a hawk makes circles, eyes bright in the shadowed day, and he finds a dampened perch. the grass snake wiggles, weaving through the grasses and weeds below the dog's porch. muscle winds and contracts as the serpent silently seeks a fresh and safe burrow. scales freeze and waver, a blunt snout waving aga

    night snowfall -    the apple trees  shorter this morning