Haiku Book

A Thursday morning,
like so many before this,
that start with coffee.

it’s a quiet week,
and some might say a weak week,
but I still got paid.

The apple’s been cut,
into tiny apple squares,
that taste delicious.

So who moved my cheese?
For it was there yesterday,
now it has vanished.

I am falling down,
a steep rabbit hole I think,
and time’s in reverse.

Too soon it’s ended,
too fast it begins again,
another new day.

A sleeps elusion,
a dream within an odd dream,
that I can’t escape.

The morning comes fast,
dragging me from evil dreams,
and shaking me free.

In warm brilliance,
of the sun kissed summer leaves,
and evenings breeze.

I ride through arbours,
dark, yet brightly lit both sides,
and into sun light.

The spinning around,
quicker now and going fast,
the bike wheels take ground.

It’s hard not to like,
the speed of the bike moving,
eating up the ground.

The midnight bell toils,
the moon’s full as it can be,
and the night is dark.

It is time for bed,
the morning comes far too soon,
and sleep comes creeping.

I want to write songs,
the ones with music you mean?
That’s what my mum asked.

Yes, with music, mum,
that makes it a song to sing,
with a little tune.

The she says to me,
Sarcasm doesn’t suit you,
and then went her way.

Well, that told me eh?
I should know better than that,
at my age as well.

The rain came heavy,
just for a moment or two,
then left the place wet.

I went for a walk,
I needed air and to walk,
to feel it on me.

I walked to the lake,
and took a photo or three,
of the setting sun.

People walking dogs,
and children walking parents,
and breeze was just right.

Moonlight through the clouds, drifting in and out, such fun, the fool moon playing.

The sun was shining
and bright rain began to fall,
dancing on the ground.

Don’t start with a but,
it seems rude yet, however,
sometimes it does work.

I’m in a hard place,
and some extremely hard rock,
but I’m squeezing through.

My tea has gone cold,
it is neglect that does it,
and works every time.

I’m hiding away,
writing and working I’ll stay,
so I don’t delay.

I went to London,
I had some things to do there,
and then came back home.

We had a nice lunch,
of egg, bacon, and some toast,
and a mug of tea.

I bought an old book,
and I bought a new one too,
To read and to write.

The trains travelled fast,
and the journeys didn’t last,
and now it’s the past.

I got home at six,
and I drank a mug of tea,
with a few biscuits.

I’m digging a hole,
and I am digging it deep,
right to the bottom,

I’ll know when I’m there,
and on the way I will rest,
ev’ry now and then.

On the way I find,
some things strange yet interesting,
like bones, coins and things.

I dogging a hole,
and I’m not collecting things,
so I leave them there.

The sleep creeps up,
and wraps round its tentacles,
pulling you away,

The clouds are waiting,
all filled with different dreams,
some good and some are bad,

But you will not know,
until you are there drifting,
and floating through clouds.

They all seem so real,
but can shift erratically,
one cloud to the next.

And then you awake,
you have fallen through the clouds,
waking with a bump.

It must work somehow,
a switch on the side maybe,
of just plug it in.

I recall the past,
with memories of beaches,
and being carefree.

Walks in the forests,
and camping out in the bush,
that was a good time.

It’s different now,
for the coast is far away,
and the bush is gone.