Haiku Book

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.

Finally got home,
unpacked my work computer,
now for some game fun.

I was in London,
the travel was fine and quick,
sleeping most the way,.

The planets align,
across the evening skyline,
even when there’s clouds.

just follow the dots,
I did for hours one evening,
and went in circles.

I lost a cheese store,
and I was comfortable,
and it was tasty.

Feel Haiku beauty,
in the nature of being,
and not just seeing.

It isn’t the world,
and everyone against me,
it is just myself.

Enjoy your artwork,
and colour outside the lines;
live your life the same.

My day was quiet,
some would say it was easy;
that’s how I like it.

Into a deep sleep,
I drifted ever deeper,
with my broken dreams.

The dream land appears,
through thin mists of silver cords,
thinner but not gone.

With swirling white clouds,
I entered through a known scene,
that mixed with others.

I woke with a weight,
the sleep was heavy on me,
and I soon found sleep.

It’s Easter Sunday,
and all of the shops are closed;
I think that is good.

Bad politicians,
go quoting bible scriptures,
are such hypocrites.

Elections will come,
and there’s a reckoning too,
that will change their views.

The first day of Spring,
is joyful and breathe taking,
and lasts for always.

The winter’s over,
past and gone, and summer comes,
with it warm sunshine.

Saturday morning,
a mug of coffee stands by;
smell the aroma.

Words are stuttering,
they jumble in confusion,
known but not spoken.

An excellent day,
the sun shines as it should do,
warm with a light breeze.

Music all around,
but there’s not a single sound,
as they count it in.

I played just one note,
and let it ring, for awhile,
to see how it sounds.

There is a full moon,
tonight around 8 pm,
they say it is pink.

Do you like spiders,
big and with 8 hairy legs
and like to eat snacks.

I will take a walk,
to stretch my legs a little,
and feel the sunshine.

Micro arranger,
that’s what I call a meddler,
that wants things just so.

I love my music,
guitar, keyboards and the like,
keeps me occupied.

It’s always around,
until you really want it,
then it can’t be found.

It just disappeared,
I’ve looked everywhere for it,
and this is just weird.

It’s a real nice time,
the Easter break with 4 days,
to rest and unwind.

I’m writing in ink,
and I like my fountain pen,
for it let’s me think.

Evening shadows come,
as twilight wanders around,
ushering nightfall.

Some things I believe,
pay attention and forgive,
and don’t sweat small things.

I’m capturing words;
one bright epigram moment,
devoid of humour.

When you are ready,
you can select a few names,
and start your hit list.

Run carefully now;
hit each stepping stone just right,
and then learn to fly.