Haiku Book

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.

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.