Haiku Book

In black and white clouds,
shapes and images emerge,
as deep thoughts submerge.

Blinkin’ cold out here,
and the bus is late again,
I should have flown it.

A red sky at night;
shepherds delight, I hope so,
maybe shepherds pie.

A single page torn,
ripped out, to save, or in scorn;
a new page is turned.

T’was a cold night,
and the moon shone so brightly,
in the frosty air.

Sometimes, in wonder,
when the coldness goes unfelt,
I immerse myself.

Walking home at night,
as the mist disperses light,
across a wet road.

The mist rolling down,
bringing a chilling silence,
to cold still water.

Oak tree silhouette,
and it rests gloriously,
with a setting sun.

I was told it snowed,
and sure enough, a dusting,
turned everything white.