Haiku #765

765.

He fell from the sky
In a city unaware.
A dull cul-de-sac.

The Seamstress

If I love you,
I will lose you,
Should nature adhere
To the only rule
My empress knows.
This is my experience;
Behind her brows
With volcanic glows
A new statue is born,
Her odes and her notes
On how to cope
Bolted into my
Motionless
Cobalt palms.

If I love you,
I will lose you,
For so long I chose
The isolated way
To disprove such losses
Imprinted in
My fingertips;
My father,
My brothers,
My daughter,
The others;
My friends,
My purpose,
A memory of lovers,
My name
Without end;
Even her squid ink blood
And her cuttlefish bones
Say they are unable to mend
My skipping-heart stones.

If I love you,
I will lose you,
So forgive me
If sometimes
I dye my eyes and
Blind myself from love,
Hermetically sealed
In a bluebell forest
Of muted tears,
My self below;
Without these fears I am useless,
Her presence above
Keeps me in the only
Lonely mortality
I have ever known.

Softly, as soft as the first falling snow,
Softly her sadness is sewn.

Time Capsule

Carefully,
O so carefully,
Three convenors
Unpacked my
Cracked and dullish
Antique soul,
Dusted it down,
Then planted her
Purged uncertain
Roots preserved
Diligently,
As diligently as
Ushers for Autumn,
And as attentively
As heavenly plotters
For a gravedigging daughter.
There was no little ceremony,
Deft moves with economy
All of their own,
Padlocks and padding,
Bricks for the weighting,
Their lips switching
Beyond linguistics
And everyday knowledge,
The ways of nature,
The birds in their words
And trees in their homage,
Uttering under each breath
Esoteric phrases –
The curse of the left –
As by my soul
I was slowly dripped
Into a humble
Unadorned
Time capsule.

A commemorative
Century passed by;
Then, without plaques
Or fanfares
Or industry all adrift,
An appointed time
Arrived, silently,
With nobody there
To open the lid.

Everybody Matters

I am my own death.

Uplift blackening acrid smoke.

People fall down.

Blessed observers
Surviving
And thriving
On wi-fi
And serendipity.
Some did choke.
Some awoke,
But not all.

I gave birth
To twin apostrophes
Then suddenly spoke.

Bleak confetti,
Death wedding,
Lateral bleeding,
Distant heaven.

I dreamt last night
That every living entity
Has soul,
So why is there
In some buildings
And some people
That deeply observable hole.

Taxes, beliefs
And comfort
Paid for all this.
You can talk and share
All you want,
Blind and besotted,
But beyond a white cap
The next one is
Already plotted.

Serialised

Where do they go to?
Those endless rows
Who once sat, bless,
Pleased as punch
And bright as a bunch
Of tulips essential
To our well-dressed
Red-shoed universe.
They sang a hymn,
They learned a word,
Only ten or twenty years
Ahead to be interred
In brambles and roses
For the wrongs
Of a man, or men,
Or whoever we failed
In our future roles
To only once deter.

Green Dog

A dog painted green in the woods,
A white frog caught in floorboards
In my dewy miller’s youth,
Begins in my memory’s mouth,
A horseshoe over the door,
Rusty, swung another way round.

Those brass horseshoes abounded,
Luck pours out like the entrails
Of stars in the observable universe,
Pouring like turned milk from jugs
Invisible to the naked eye,
Invisible to the soul.

No More For Me The Sun

No more did you need for me,
No more for me the Sun;
Desire’s a mangy bedfellow
When beds are made for one.

He turned my pillow inwardly,
History’s eye disinterred;
Bled salt from me, then westerly,
Fulfillment is deferred.

In crackling ice behind a shed
I found a frozen stem,
Within its roots more frozen there
My love is laid to rest.