blossoms, grass, wind –
i inhale with all my pores
this rich april night
i’m not the only one writing haiku these days. disordered cosmos does, too, describing her (his?) PhD, the metaphoratorium has something to say about the rosetta stone, and these people do it all backwards.
turquoise alabaster veins
run through a bright forest of rocks
somewhere in a corner of my
the cat makes cracking noises as she eats her food,
the daughter clicks and clickclickclicks the mouse,
and somewhere over in a corner of my
there sits a little treasure that i want to catch.
the phone rings.
my roommate laughs.
somewhere way back in a corner of my
i try to fix that glimmer of a dream,
its sparkly colours, quiet sounds,
the mossy smells that come – i think, do they? –
from little cracks made by old, gnarly roots – –
and crash! a plate falls from the kitchen counter.
the dog barks. “mom, can i have twenty bucks?”
those turquoise alabaster veins
fade more and more.
but i know they’re not gone.
tomorrow maybe, or another year.
they’re safely stored away.
moving right along here with NaPoWriMo and a poem every day … today: 5 haiku.
fading, the noises
draw her ears out. she listens.
but the song is gone.
longer and longer.
it takes. for the sun to drown.
in… the.. pacific.
washing the dishes
under the old neon lamp.
clean cup. wrinkled hands.
alone on a chair
she sits. fifty-eight. shivering.
a car groans outside.
not yet. the blossoms
are still hard and tight. the thorns
soft yet. hold on. wait.
for national poetry writing month, i’ll be posting one of my poems every day. today: a random poem, selected blindly from one of my poetry databases.
all over this land
my bell rings with water in it
it rings and it brings
cups full of overflowing worries
nagging guilting voices
no no no
my own voices
ringing out danger
ringing out warning
and what i could do
is use my own voice
and sing songs of love