Month: April 2022

Walk the silky road,
let the fine strands guide your feet,
quickly to your goal.

First they ignore you,
then laugh at you, and fight you;
and then you will win.
(Haiku adaption from Mohandas (Mahatma) K. Gandhi)

What is an orange,
but a very tasty treat,
so juicy and good.

The sun’s out shining,
promising a summers day,
with lovely blue skies.

I’m dropping letters,
it is like I can not spell,
it’s incurable.

The notes like treacle,
sweet but sticky on the frets,
play a slow refrain.

In the above one,
I just missed the ‘s’ on notes,
and changed it’s context.

When writing I find,
my thoughts ahead of my words,
and they can’t catch up.

Happy Friday all,
and Monday’s a holiday,
and I’m loving it.

What is on my mind,
a question I see often
but have no answers.

The sky’s the limit,
but that sounds so nebulous,
and I’m on the ground.

Searching high and low,
and then sometimes in between,
for elusive things.

The clouds crowding in,
fill the sky with little blue,
that’s disappearing.

The taps are running,
filling the sink, hot and cold,
so the water’s warm.

I’m spiralling down,
through pillars of sleepiness,
where I fall and fall.

A single rain drop,
falls from a leaf to the ground,
where it finds a home.

I’m tired like this,
and I’m unsettled like that,
but fine in between,

I’m seeing visions,
scenes straight from a movie set,
but inside my head.

Open slowly now,
let the reveal surprise you,
as sunshine pours out.

It’s finally here,
like a dark cloud in blue skies,
it can’t be ignored.

London is my home,
and from cobbled streets I rise,
with bloodied grazed knees.

Music notes jumping,
and whining on the rhythms,
of Calypso tunes.

I enjoy to write,
feeling the words falling in right,
and keeping it tight.

I like how you look,
where did you get those mince pies,
one blue and one brown.

I’ve worked for 10 hours,
but that is fairly normal,
when I work from home.

Half a brain cell left,
and it’s on the blink, I think,
so I’ll take my time.

My tea cup’s empty,
so cold and disappointing,
but its pattern’s nice.

The great adventure,
that called him to the wild west,
and in search of gold.

The cold rattles in,
like a chilly crass east wind,
that blows warmth away.

A scene from a film,
a man and woman talking,
at night in the fog.

The rain came today,
and felt wetter than normal,
is that possible?

It is starting soon,
I am recording my work.
to get it on line.

The strange ups and downs,
that turn me around and down.
and then bring me up.

Going for a walk,
on a sunny afternoon,
on this fine Sunday.

Living in the now,
seeing what is around me,
and planning ahead.

Going in circles,
with daft questions thrown at me,
that don’t need answers.

Splashing in water,
is great fun when you are young,
and when your older.

The breathe of the wind,
stirs the feelings long hidden,
that must be breathed in.

The lone rain drop fell,
falling through the misty clouds,
to land on a leaf.

The voice calling out,
can summon a reaction,
or can be ignored.

The ant is busy,
with its searching for the team;
what a team they are.

The clouds feel the sun,
it can lift them up or worse,
it will thin them out.

The game is over,
and the die lie unmoving,
the pieces stand still.

Mister Badger’s gone,
I saw him beside the road,
and he didn’t move.

Up in the tree tops,
where young buds like to shoot off,
in new foliage.

A small vendors cart,
selling coffee and some treats;
the coffee was good.

It was a strike one,
and I’ve just got a strike two,
so, third time lucky.

My Friday travel plans,
a bus, a train and the tube,
then it’s back again.

Such a struggle this,
in and out my mind’s going,
never ceasing much.

I cut the paper,
sizing it just right I’m told
before it fell down.

My mind’s wandering,
I know it is sleep that plays,
with that strange dreamland.

I used to count sheep,
but they have all run away,
and jumping fences.

Sleep is tracking me,
and sneaks up to surprise me,
in some dreamlike place.