Haiku Book

Bumhole Bumps’ idols,
pagan golden images,
that people worship.

The world has gone strange,
claiming one thing with passion,
to then deny it.

Dispite all the news,
showing this hyprocrisy,
they speak out proudly.

I do not like news,
I live a simple true life,
with my short Haiku.

There more than enough,
nonsense in the news for sure,
most of it is bad.

The sun’s breaking through,
the greyness of the morning,
for a brighter day,

Lunch was a pork pie,
and a cup of tea, that’s me,
it doesn’t take much.

My office’s a mess,
a lot of stuff and no space,
I want space not stuff.

Piles of stacked papers,
arranged in piles everywhere,
that all need clearing.

It is like my head,
there’s piles of things inside there,
arranged in a mess.

Well, the March is here,
trying hard to pull away,
from the winters grasp.

Some stories are told,
in books, films, or just by mouth,
others remain lost.

I’m searching for some,
untold family stories,
but the trail is cold.

I make up stories,
I’ve got imagination,
but no time to write.

Time now slips away,
and daily demands pile up,
doing this and that.

I hear some movement,
and chat as others join me,
where I quietly sit.

I saved this as draft, but it won’t let me write right, just along the page.

Well, sure, that will work, I know I am doing it, it just feels funny.

Tea sits close at hand, ready to help when needed, with a gulp of space.

I went for a walk, took some photos and came home, and then fell asleep.

March marches in soon, the clock won’t wait, it must come, the first of the month.

Happy birthday me, well it will be soon enough, another year gone.

February ends,
tomorrow for sure I think,
for another year.

The day is lovely,
I cannot fault it, really,
It is just lovely.

I’ve a little time,
to relax and take time out,
Maybe finish things.

I am working hard,
day in and day out, I say,
or all of the time.

My eyes are heavy,
a walk and tea and biscuits,
makes me want to nap.

The sun woke me up,
so bright and clear this morning,
I had to get up.

The shower held me,
in its hot flowing showers,
waking up my limbs.

A cup of coffee,
starts before the meetings do,
that must always be.

I play my guitar,
quietly through some meetings,
when I am muted.

The day was so nice,
it was warm and so spring like,
I these kind of days.

It really revives,
and then helps me to survive,
through this working day.

I shop to relax,
and buying two things today,
that I do not need.

They look very good,
metal and heavy, good bookends,
for shelves awaited.

Credtcard debt,
now just makes me sweat and fret,
they have no use now.

I paying them off,
getting rid of these vipers,
debt snakes in the grass.

That old Barcalycard,
is now some plectrums I use,
playing my guitar.

It is a Thursday,
and this could be the worst day,
I am now worn out.

I woke up at 4,
and I dozed until seven,
that’s when I got up.

The day was a dream,
that played out differently,
but none of it real.

I count my blessings,
and I name them one by one,
for I know I am blessed.

It is hard to see,
it really can be sometimes,
when the day’s so long.

I enjoy Haiku,
it relaxes my tired mind,
when I have to write.

It’s a therapy,
for tiredness and such stress,
that makes me think free.

Think free? You’re asking,
how can that be if you’re tired?
Try it and find out!

This is my close down,
the one that says good night all,
it is time for bed.

The light fell slowly,
or so it seemed to me then,
standing in the sun.

It’s slow warm kindness,
kissed my skin in a warm glow,
like a summers day.

The night time sneaked in,
without a fanfare or cheer,
more a dimming down.

The papers edge curled,
concealing the faint writing,
placed in the corner.

A fresh mug of tea,
sits hot and longing nearby,
waiting to be sipped.

The days are longer,
each one now claims five minutes,
of extra daytime.

I need distractions,
to focus on the main things,
and finish them off.

I begin too much,
this and that and some music,
it’s just this and that.

The tea has cooled now,
and there’s a frown on the side,
where the teas dipped down.

It try not to waste,
my time on doing nothing,
but work get me close.

The shutters are closed,
it’s evening and breeze blows through,
dusty narrow slates.

Somewhere there’s music,
a tinkle of piano,
and an oldtime song.

There’s a hole at work,
noone can fill it, it’s gone,
and a void remains.

The tables are turned,
round ones in particular,
they turn very well.

I’m feeling tired,
cofffe is not working well,
but it’s tasting great.

Music’s my passion,
the way one holds a guitar,
explains everything.

I’ll string you along,
through the bushes, down the road,
until you are lost.

I’ve got a secret,
and I’ve only told myself,
but I can’t keep them.

I had a strange dream,
that just went around and round,
each time with a change.

I got up early,
after the dawn, only just,
and before sunrise.

The day was lovely,
but I stayed in doors all day,
but looked out often.

I am fading fast,
so fast I can not keep up,
and tiredness wins.

Here inside my dream,
the haiku just go around,
changing a little.

Until they all morph,
into the perfect short poem.,
that catches your ear.

I bid you ‘a Dieu,’
mon amie, je nous dit,
je cherch pour mon lit.

Say, I can’t speak it,
nor write it, even think it,
in my English mind.

What was it I said,
or maybe something I did?
That chased them away!

I got news today,
someone didn’t want to stay,
so they’ve gone away.

As they say, “That’s life!”
Who knows what they are thinking,
or what they have done?

Tommow they’re gone,
and there is an empty chair,
at the ‘Teams’ meeting.

What can you say, eh?
Just get on with life and work,
and things that matter.

The tables are turned,
the result’s unexpected,
but came just the same.

I do not feel joy,
only an empty relief,
with no rejoicing.

The day had a glow,
the way the light was falling,
and there was a mist.

There was silent rain,
that soak the earth completely,
and without a noise.

Even the night does glow,
like an alien landed,
or the end has come.

These strange weather days,
that arrive so unexpalined,
almost un-noticed.

More of what, I ask?
more Haiku nonsense is it?
Well bring it on mate.

I have been thinking,
‘Careful! there’, I hear you say,
and then think a while.

No chance of that here,
my mind muscle’s very fit,
it works out daily.

Thought I have observed,
a few times where it just sleeps,
even in the day.

A shower starts it,
cold water first and then hot,
gets me thinking things.

Not I am thinking,
write a song, I should, I will,
after a short rest.

I kicked the old tin,
down the road and it cried out,
‘oh, it hurts, please stop.’

How was I to know,
this empty tin had feelings,
and felt my kicking.

Sad to say, it’s gone,
it passed away, recycled,
and it may be back.

Can don’t really feel,
nor can they speak, so I’m told,
by the wheelie bin.

I’m trying to hide,
away from the madding crowd,
and calls for action.

Now the penny’s dropped,
and bounced back and forth and then,
it just dissappeared.

Voices do haunt me,
with bits of conversation,
and tone and accent.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
I fell asleep and awoke,
to a page of zees.