Posts Tagged ‘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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the ghosts
adhering to inner walls,
stains and smudge,
scribbles in haste
‘remember me’.
Words that leapfrog meaning, bray and boast their sounds, exultant cascades untranslatable, insubstantial, picked out, chosen, chaos bouquet, emphatically vague. They are summoned and summon yet more. A duty, to weigh the grains and count.
To be,
(that’s what the scholar said),
to be, only the purpose, the desperate clutch of the sliding mind, the seed to puncture shell, to push aside soil, to explode in cellular satisfaction,
only for a moment,
only a fragment spinning from sight,
(a haze of insect wing, moth dust, singeing carapace),
quick fizz of smoke
before a new
silent morning.




The gods are talking and
who, now, will listen?
( except the still heads, still ears of cats, furled limbs, breathing soft).
The songs drunken with time, beyond reasonable explanations, beyond vocabulary, even.
A world rhythm,
geologic heart,
solar wind tatters,
a raiment of light.
Bruised and blue, bullied, subdued with belief, the weight of knowing, the want of neat ends. The jazz ravings disdained, we stutter, scatter, mutter into neat insanities, inexcusable attrocities, the most urbane deniabilities: accepted gospels, ( polite murmur, a scatter of slight applause).
Damned, chained,
not fit for consumption,
bagged, tagged, dumped.
Peeled back, flayed, hearts melted, livers liquified, bones removed, it rattles yet: the endless excuses, one more throw, red or black, no more bets.
Certainly, a certain outcome.
These flickering words dissappear.
Peals of laughter.
Exit stage.



The giants, ensorcelled, (confined to the bitter end, the edge, paled and wan)
Believe they begin to believe they doubt their own existences. Instead, we have designed
Towering tree houses, worlds on a toothpick, serpents performing charity,
Clever monsters spruced up, natty dressed, elocuted, certificated
Charm themselves into, insinuate, invade and invalidate the belated wakers.
They are now the boys in charge, elegantly rewriting memory,
Railroading necessities. The taste for giants long past, evaporated ice.



Shall I list the devatas, the demons and angels, ( who bear the identical of names, who bear the burdens of our blame). Pinned out, wings splayed, members politely erased, genders hushed up. Who strode worlds: now only the names of new cars, lines of fashion, confections. Reincarnate as pet dogs and cats, the endless dreaming of glories, biding time.



the images are taken from a longer sequence of drawings, yet to be titled and still ongoing, an animation of stillness, a shout of silence

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a href=”https://simonhlilly.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/frog-garden.jpg”>frog garden

pillow rain
blanket breeze.
dream fever.

dream fever
waking suddenly

ticking clock.
suspended weightless
between dream and sleep,
between day and night.

tangled drifting words
dream images
ticking clock

a tumble of words
dreams slipping away
this floating world

this floating world
sinking, bobbing,
rain-soaked curtains.

curtains of air.
moon behind cloud.
poet scribbling in darkness.

moving carefully
so as not to wake others-
it never works well!

the wind
the rain
tears well up,
sutras of hollowness.

wriggling dreams
aching heart.


carp pool2<

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For this
one instant
A radiant pink
Squeezed and bright
Between hill and cloudbank.
Set round and sure
In circled gold
Dawn sun

On the back of my eye
First flash of morning sun
Dazzles still.

Turning around
First flash of sun
Drives out thought.

Small promise
A moment of radiance
Before clouds close in.

It is the colour
Of heated silver
In a burnished silver sky,
Warm and cold balanced both
Tasting equinox.

A claddagh ring
This dawn:
Heart sun
Held safe
in year’s
Two hands.

Promising spring
Dawn soon waylaid
A party of snowclouds.

A party of snowclouds
Cautious at first
Racing drunk and wild
Across neat fields.

Across neat fields
Light sparkles on dewfall.
Birds chasing each other
Pause a moment.
Spring dance.

Spring dance.
Changing partners
Their feet flattening daffodils,
A whirl of wind and hail.

A whirl of wind and hail
Is the news from the north.
All is silent in the garden.

All is silent in the garden
Dawn sun has vanished
within the daffodils’ trumpets.

Deep within the daffodils’ trumpets
Is the sound of spring to come
A bright fanfare.

I cannot describe
The colour of the dawn sun,
But perhaps
A blush of fire,
Burnished warm
By the fingertips
Of infinite patience.
Smoothed glow,
Delicate, cherished.

Sun hidden.
Collecting firewood.
The hearth
Still our closest companion.

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Every other noise
In the storm:
The latecomers.


Sounding deep my soul:
The wind that moves the dark pine.
How far seems that home!


Only me
And the full moon
In this empty boarding house.


Nothing remained to be said.
The wind
High in the darkness.


The empty clouds
Fill with light.
Slowly, the moon.


Dead of night.
In the empty yard
The dripping standpipe
Is silenced.


This sleeping world:
River singing to itself
Under the stars.


Halo of the moon
Shifts like a dreaming cat.
The dawn wind.


This is a selection of haiku from various times, put together with a similarity of mood or feel. To add to it a very recent little piece:

Little cat
Can’t settle:
Rippling through the windows.


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