A recent series of Haiku

a town is gone

hawthorn flowers

white in the sun


among rubble

the snapshot of a child

splashing in a wave


spring morning

a ginger cat leaps home

across frosted lawns


the robin arrives

sampling dry grass for its nest

sky is cut by a plane


sunlight in a puddle

birds dowse their wings

no other sound


emerald shoots

on brittle cement

patter of feet


plastic bags rattle

in wire and branch

blobs of colour


a wave is rolling

over the grid of streets

hush among crumbled walls


lichen dried silver

in the hot spring

a rain of blossoms


a golden leaf

in the shade

white plumes rise


under smooth ice

a shimmering carp

visible silence

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Thanks for visiting. Feel free to respond and, or, share the post.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s