Haiku Book

Bullies ganging up,
on the smaller kid, ain’t right,
nor is it justice.

The morning went fast,
and I caught it just in time,
a second no more.

I’m writing today,
those old tales of yesterday,
that’s new tomorrow.

The tennis balls caught,
beneath the taunt rackets strings,
there’s no stranger things.

The sun settles down,
between the bare oak branches,
that likes the sun’s warmth.

It’s a chilly night,
but a gorgeous lunar sight;
the moon rocks gently.

Coloured things stacked up,
a little radial world,
smugly translucent.

Only a penny,
battered much more than many,
and not fit for change.

Here’s a really nice,
paper moon, hanging over,
a wet cardboard sky.

Angry clouds hover,
trying to hide the sunlight,
that always breaks through.