Haiku Book

What day it was now?
They all merge into a mess,
a short messy week.

My eyes play me up,
sometimes see and sometimea don’t,
and that’s near enough.

They say it’s my age,
but i can see that so well,
I think It’s the light.

Foraging for words,
the hunting is no good now,
I take what I find.

Some simple ditties,
simple rhymes, keep me healthy,
in my mind, I think.

I stretch out the words,
and see if they will spring back,
to what they were once.

Long words or short words,
they all go together well,
like peas in a pod.

And’s underrated,
over used and a good friend,
for those connections.

I have missed a day,
I didn’t feel it had gone,
but it has for good.

I recall something,
a shock and realisation
that got me thinking.

I am waiting now,
and some music is playing,
but it’s not my choice.

And I missing lunch,
and that makes me feel hungry,
with the thought of it.

Riding my bike,
and just as fast as the wind,
that’s five miles an hour.

No, I go faster,
top gear all the way i will,
if it’s all downhill.

I had a work block,
it was there but I struggled,
to do anything.

The rain fell gently,
each drop like soft sweet kisses,
that finished too soon.

It is time for bed,
and dreams start like real stories,
that do not make sense.

Things are changing fast,
and not for the best either,
and makes me work hard.

I’m looking around,
far and near and all about,
caring for my eyes.

Screen time is mean time,
without those regular breaks,
and those comfort breaks.

The people who past by
Run or walk with confidence,
like this is my thing.

The shopping is done,
and it is more expensive,
by thirty percent.

Yes, it is Friday,
and a real release for some,
as the weekend’s come.

I span on my chair,
and did two and a half turns,
and spilt my coffee.

It does feel cooler,
there is a sense in the air,
of rain and Autumn.

I hope for warm days,
that will the winter delay,
before autumn’s here.

People passing by,
walking, running, and riding,
in groups or alone.

Travelled to London,
the tube was packed like sardines,
and was smelly too.

London is alive,
with the vehicles and people,
moving everywhere.

The hoisin duck wrap,
is my favourite lunch now,
at least for this week.

Early up, late in,
that is the reality,
of London working.

Sleep was catching me,
on the tube journey back home,
snoozing for a while.

Travelling is good,
a walk, a journey, or trip,
for a day or year.

I have done a few,
year long and those shorter ones,
and frequent dailies.

The long trip I’ve took,
was such a long time ago,
but not forgotten.

I flew to a place,
with my backpack and guitar,
and a lot of fears.

I found there my friends,
from the first day to the last,
and ever with me.

I can hear music,
notes so familiar play,
that constantly change.

What’s a music note,
but a pure set frequency,
and not decibels.

Guitar strings vibrate,
played in time and together,
in their perfect sense.

Some voices can soar,
like eagles reaching such heights,
and gracefully fly.

I’m a musician,
and a songwriter of sorts,
that matters to me.

The colours rejoice,
mixing beauty together,
under skilful hands.

Water colours run,
blend and merge in such wonder,
and coming alive.

The painter can’t wait,
it’s inspiration that drives,
when they make a start.

Colours are our friends,
quite plain and unassuming,
but see what they like.

Paintings aren’t rainbows,
but they do take a little,
of its wide palette.