Monday, 16 January 2012

Haiku: Unopened Letters



Unopened letters
on the floor in the hallway
all afternoon.

.

A cold wind is scattering
the cherry blossom –
young newlyweds.

.

Black knickers
flat in the dirt
in the middle of the road.

.

Fly
running all over
a pile of dogshit.

.

Originally:

Fly
feasting
on a pile of dogshit.

.

Ladybird
on our bedroom ceiling
all summer.

.

Unable to remember
the word for squid
in Italian.

.

Cold night –
the warmth of my wife’s
sleeping body.

.

rain
bare branch
two crows

.

Lonely night –
enjoying the sound
of my own farts.

.

Glimpsed from a train,
an old woman
in a blue dressing gown.

.

Winter sunlight,
long shadows
in the graveyard.

.

Keeping me awake
at night –
haiku.

.

Low-tide,
gulls gather
on the shoreline.

.

Even on my sickbed
I am full of gratitude
for the way.

.

Forgetting about the haiku
I can’t remember,
two more occur.

.

Old-looking homeless guy
having a smoke
on a sunny bench.

.

A young woman
looks down at her breasts
while talking on the phone.

.

The puttanesca sauce burns
to the bottom of the pan –
reading haiku.

.

A crow shuffles along
the branch to make room
for another crow.

.

The anniversary
of my mother’s death –
first whiff of spring.

.

Brushing my teeth
hard and fast –
regretting something I said.

.

Pissing in the night,
sea-air
through the open window.

.

Cheep-cheep,
cheep-cheep.
Go back to sleep, little bird!

.

Staring
out of a window –
ho-hum.

.

Pink dawn –
who doesn’t
feel torn?

.

Overheard on a train:

Blue sky,
white fields –
the cold!

.

Moonlight slanting through
slatted blinds,
cat moon-bathing on the bed.


©2012 Dan Wyke

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