Haiku Book

Writing’s a passion,
that grabs and drives you onwards,
to those greater dreams.

The words will not wait,
and swirl around when spoken,
but settle harder.

A noun is a thing,
a verse is a doing word,
together they play.

I’m not an author,
though I write many writings,
none are yet complete.

The pen’s posed ready,
hoovering over the page,
keen to make a start.

Out for a short run,
I don’t want to over do it,
so taking small steps.

I didn’t get far,
past the post and down the road,
and caught the bus back.

Exercise is good,
in moderation, they say,
but do it often.

Well Friday was here,
I know it was, I lived it,
but it went so quick.

out riding my bike,
along an old railway track,
dodging the walkers.

Someone’s’ assumption,
is a risk to someone else:;
the gun’s not loaded.

I’ve a blue notebook,
that inspires me to write more,
and get things finished.

Chinese left overs,
seems more tastier some how,
just fry it up some,.

It arrived today,
a multi-gym that’s for me,
to try and get fit.

Time’s slipping away,
it can’t be held or delayed,
and the days just fade.

I’m scratching around,
looking for a real new sound,
that will resonate.

That last gulp of tea,
black, sweet and warm, and then gone,
so satisfying.

I am sleeping well,
snoozing and napping well too,
then I always have.

It is official,
September’s finally here;
that didn’t take long.

One more mug of tea,
that’s hot and deliberate,
a good distraction.

Take your foot off it,
you are standing on it now,
and there is was too.

I’m making it up,
every word and every line,
it’s all just made up.

Do not think too hard,
let it flow, just let it go,
let your talent show.

It seems so surreal,
floating from one day to next,
and feeling nothing.

It’s a quiet day,
the birds don’t sing anymore,
unless I bribe them.

Crumbs don’t make the grade
it is seeds and things they crave,
with a little rice.

The sun settles down,
comfy behind a tree line,
blushing a little.

It is a nice day,
doing things that I need to do,
like writing some more.

There is much to do,
it is overwhelming though,
trying to finish.

It is cold today,
some soup and toast for lunch helped,
to warm me up some.

The day soon will pass,
the evening come and night too,
then tomorrows morn.

I am wondering
have I done the best I can do.
Could I do better.

A day out special,
take the road going eastwards,
until we see sea.

The north sea looks dark,
some would say dirty, it’s not,
but it’s very cold.

We went to Clacton,
my grandparents used to go,
when my mum was young.

Three quid for a ride,
one minute of going round,
and some up and down.

It made us tired,
fish and chips, and sea air,
and the journey home.

It is all scattered,
and I pick up the pieces,
and build them again.

The clothes are washing,
tumbling around and around,
spinning noisily.

The shopping is done,
and that is what I call fun,
getting what I want.

My door is not locked,
but you’ll find the way is blocked,
by the wild garden.

I still get my post,
a drone delivers daily,
and my parcels too.

I’ve a tunnel out,
that leads to the garden shed,
where I can escape.

I went for a walk,
a long stroll and a short talk,
and told myself off.

I saw a few deer,
standing staring back at me,
before they vanished.

The streams run fast,
with sudden summer downpours,
and the hard baked ground.

My present arrived,
something special and quite sharp,
I mean it looks smart.