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Posts Tagged ‘Haiku-ish’

SPRING SCATTER (haiku-ish)

Moon as bright as morning
burnished by a cold wind.
Mountain river white as clouds.

Floating mountain.
Two crows.
Spring sun melts frost.

Cold wind.
Bright sunlit air.
These blackthorn days:
Tumbled jewels.

Along the lanes,
blackthorn blossom.
On the high hills:
the bones of the snow.

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SNOW SEQUENCE

River words turn running slow.
To see, to say, to move on.
A winter’s day has little warmth.

A winter’s day has little warmth.
We huddle around our hearts,
Crunch bowed through snow.

Crunch bowed through snow
Finding footprints to keep to,
White hollows the slipping lanes.

White hollows the slipping lanes.
Lines of hedge float empty
Cold smudges reasons to move.

Cold smudges reasons to move.
Time falls in flakes ending all.
Weighted we bob, suddenly uncertain.

Suddenly uncertain,
This is not the world we own nor shape.
Even names for things have dissappeared.

Even names for things have disappeared.
The river mutters between teeth of ice.
Slick and black the waters smirk.

Slick and black the waters smirk.
Glass cold whispers sliding by.
River words turn running slow.

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SOIL OF A NEW HEAVEN

The bare trees bend.
Birds bob and float –
Words of a haiku
Searching for a place to rest.

A single beam of sunlight tracks the valley floor
From a sliding sky-pool of bright gold.

The last few leaves have fled
And there will soon be rain.

A fragrant savage despair –
Like love, but not love.
A bitter yew red dust wedded
To ash and water,
Sprinked jet, sprinkled amber.
A language hugged and big as mountains.

The words of Taliesin sucked in through eyes,
Turned, fermenting in a cauldron heart.
Spat out in a limping century,
Adrift in baseless magic,
Amongst debris of another false economy.

Strike this hard sky-grey flint until the sparks fly –
Then the river words shall flow torrenting
Pulled by a centre true and weighty:
Inescapable earth, the spinning fort
Where all yarns are woven up, mataté and mill.
We shall be ground yet,
Ground down and ground up.

We shall become grist and whispers in the ears of playing children
Who do not know anything of us, not names nor actions,
But threaded on the same hopes,
The lilt of a language as natural as falling asleep.

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ISSA AND A FEW MOMENTS IN WALES
(Four haiku)

Issa sees the world
holding Issa in its hands.
Both begin to laugh.

Croeso! Croeso!
The sheep cry out.
Rainclouds gathering.

Hesitant at first,
And the birds falling silent,
Cool drops of rain.

Distant, morning train
Echoes off the empty fields.
Sheep waiting for rain.

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GYLFINIR

(The Curlew)

cool morning.
clouds rise.
the curlew calls.
sunlit
is the new horizon.

damp grasses –
fresh green.
sheep in the fields
curlew on the hill.

inner light.
sun slips through
before the rain.
a distant curlew calls.

melancholy joy.
a pause in the rain.
the curlew’s descending call.

perhaps we shall
be forgiven
perhaps, forgotten:
cuckoo and
curlew
in the empty wood,
the flowering field.
sunlight and
shade
on the distant
mountain.

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Opening out.
We saw a bright place:
Summer stars, birdsong.
The language of a landscape.

Bright Spring day.
For a moment
Nothing else matters.

Home through snow.
Getting lost –
Other people’s footprints.

Winter trees:
You can see
what they are thinking.
Weighing the memories
of years and seasons.
Squeezed thin
between the bright veins of light
And its decay.

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CWM GRAIG DDU

Yesterday the ravens were dancing.
Now, this east wind has scoured the skies
To a perfect frozen blue.

Dark, bruised by cold,
Cwm Graig Ddu, sunless, looks out,
Dreaming of rivers.
Its sheep: philosophical rocks,
Waiting for Spring.

Bitter cold.
Bright sunlight.
Trees dream
In the dark valley.

Hours pass.
Gazing out.
Hunting words.

Calibration of sorrows –
A mountain view.

An empty road
Still finds its destination.
All music sits upon its silence.
A sweet sap comes after winter sleep.
By slow breath the cauldron bubbles.

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