Haiku Book

I have tried my hand,
at so many things in life,
and still have one more.

I had to focus,
to do the things that I should,
and I got them done.

Ice cream in winter,
but it simply tastes so right;
time for another.

The rain softly fell,
and hanging the leaves with tears,
stopped and blew away.

I could hear bell toll,
and the mist swirled at its sound,
revealing the path.

Romance in the air,
as Valentines approaches,
and soon Spring will bloom.

Sweet winter sunsets,
remind me times long ago,
when time was my friend.

I fell deep asleep,
and drifted off to some place,
where the clocks don’t tick.

I found an old map,
and traced the faded pathways,
and I imagined.

The silent rain falls,
and gives that smell you know well;
the earth rejoicing,

The dark troubled sky,
lets the clouds ever fly by,
crying all the time.

Time tries to trap me,
but I can’t afford to stay,
I must use time well.

Sometimes it is faint,
that reassuring clock tick,
that finds its way through.

A faded photo,
with some scribbled and smudged words,
that tells me so much.

Times I’ve missed the bus,
and walked that long journey home,
along well known roads.

The hot humid days,
when I walked slowing back home,
with my heavy bag.

I like to draw things,
sketches of life, friends and dreams,
that fill a sketch book.

The sound of the rain,
beating loud on the roof tops,
reminds me of home.

The waves of the sea,
washing against my bear feet,
as the sun goes down.

Eating shark and bake,
and strolling down the beach front,
enjoying the breeze.

The places I’ve been,
the sights and people I’ve seen,
and friends and lovers.

The wind in our hair,
and blowing it everywhere,
in those curly gusts.

I’m writing from home, so I’m keeping it simple, so I’ll understand.

My coffee is hot, and I really fancy it, with a nice biscuit.

I’m seeing double, two of this and two of that, this this and that that.

A nice piece of work, finely crafted pile of junk, ‘a full black bin bag’.

Walks in the forest,
and talking along the way,
walking hand in hand.

The wind was blowing,
but it felt so clean and fresh;
I could really breathe.

Picking up the pace,
I felt I had the hills beat,
and truly I did.

Ragtime is playing,
syncopated rhythms fine,
even on guitar.

I’m feeling tired,
the heaviness descending,
brings it scattered dreams.

I woke this morning,
thinking it was Saturday,
oh, I loved my bed.

That Friday feeling,
really took time to sink in,
at about ten o’clock,

This Friday it snowed,
wet like big fluffy rain drops,
melting on impact.

It did start so well,
and then I got distracted,
and didn’t end well,

The chair is staying,
and it sits there nicely too,
underneath my desk

A good solid plank,
makes a real working platform,
for laptops and tools.

Sometimes I do think
where I am going with this,
and sometimes with that.

I’m a food addict,
;cause I eat it everyday,
sometimes more than once.

Sausages and chips,
with peas, mustard and gravy,
and a mug of tea.

Well it did get liked,
and I do like it too myself,
every now and then.

I am digging deep,
looking for the bottom too,
that will never come.

A chocolate bar,
just vanished in a moment,
of selfish gorging,