Haiku Book

Would it matter much,
if I wrote a limerick,
or some other rhyme.

I’m falling asleep,
even as I write, I doze,
and dream every word.

The words type themselves,
they are good like that at times,
when I’m not with it.

I need exercise,
running, cycling, or swimming,
but I watch TV.

It is just a joke,
nur ein witz, I’ve heard it said,
but never got it.

The trouble with trains,
is they don’t like other routes,
if you get it wrong.

I’m counting my stones,
I collected on my break,
at seaside last week.

A bucket and spade,
digging holes, building castles,
and getting sunburnt.

I’m reading a book,
and turn the page, one by one,
reading every line.

The ending’s not clear,
I read the first page quickly,
and someone ha died.

It’s a mystery,
and it says that on the back,
it has great suspense.

I got to the end,
it was the butler, I knew,
with the candle stick.

I am way behind,
the site doesn’t write itself,
and I can forget.

The light is shining,
bright like a spot light might do,
and distracting me.

There’s no tune for this,
except a slow dragging blues,
with words that are slurred.

It is sounding rough,
the edges are are so loose,
and the word drag out.

There is much to do,
it is piling up so high,
and stuffed in corners.

The morning alarm,
likes to ring early these days,
and it screams, ‘get up’.

A hot shower helps,
to refresh and wake me up,
under its hot streams.

Breakfast can be fast,
and coffee helps it a long,
and kicks off the day.

Music is playing,
I hear the notes drifting by,
of familiar tunes.

There are some with beats,
melodic rhythms that sing,
better than the words.

The strings vibration,
sings out a clear and lone note,
that rings for a while.

All the strummed strings sing,
those chords and a progressing,
form each bar to bar.

The autumn leaves fall,
more each day like a shower,
of these golden leaves.

I’m watching the scene,
as the trees turn their colours,
and standout so well.

It is time for fires,
warm and cosy and outside,
to watch the sparks fly.

The days are shorter,
morning or evening move on,
as the days shorten,.

It comes back again,
Monday and who can stop it,
maybe change its name.

Time is running fast,
I can not catch it at times,
and find i am.late.

The music’s playing,
but I can not dance at all,
I have two left feet.

I’m taking photos,
enjoying the scenery,
and the sunset now.

I can see clearly,
the road ahead and behind,
and where I am now.

I got cuddly toys,
a cheeky multi-coloured,
and long armed monkey.

Wind in the willows,
that makes a great rustling sound,
and a place to hide.

A fly has flown in,
what is that all about then,
i thought is was cold.

I’m straching an itch,
and it’s really terrrible,
but all over now.