Haiku #390 – #393


Drizzle days, this cage
Is rusty, of aged metal.
Make me next petalled.


Duck dreams in stomachs;
We could have built such systems
For love, and kindness.


But we built instead
Blind slaughterhouses.
I’ll sit beneath blooms


Of cherry blossom;
You are never forgotten,
Merely different.

Dandelion Sonnet

This fulfilled beauty, this natural love,
Born neither below nor pitched from above,
Our touch brewed crows to bonding froths of doves,
From dandelion roots bloom bright blue foxgloves.
We find more time as our figures entwine
Than decades slipped through abysses divine,
Love’s wide as the soul of a Shinto shrine,
Twenty-two heavens had heralds align.
Fourth walls flood open, diurnal delight,
Liberating souls imprisoned by night,
Fifth columnists diaspored out of sight,
We are free to gauge the depths and the height.
Suddenly lost, fragile heart-fever field,
Seeds on a breeze, bronzed a sword and a shield.

Spiraea Song

Spiraea’s blossom’s waning,
Fragile white, blanket lawn;
The neighbours haven’t stopped complaining
Since they died aged 84.
I too have lived as annual witness
To lanceolate billowed hope,
Each one just the petal’s business
To spiral over lower slopes.
Death cafés proliferate,
It started in the wi-fi;
They submerged a coastal town as bait
For a Goddess of the Magpie.
Spiraea’s blossom’s waning,
To thrive again next Spring;
If I survive the monsoon raining
I would dance with you, and sing.