Haiku Book

Rain came this morning,
cleaning the air from pollen,
that cause me to sneeze.

I do like the rain,
the feel, the sound and the smell,
and the refreshing.

Planning a party,
we hope it will be sunny,
and a nice dry day.

Music does help me,
relax and recover some,
from the long work day.

Writing’s a pleasure,
a joy and a relaxation,
that I can afford.

The rain’s pouring down,
and there is a sense of awe,
at this cool down pour.

I am writing verse,
some is good but most is not,
but to try is great.

The tune alludes me,
I sense it in minor chords,
that always sing well.

I’m slowly writing,
pondering over still words,
before they stagnate.

It is time to sleep,
lock up, lock down and bed down,
that is much better.

Out of sequence now, the days a blur re-occur, and making one weak.

Dragon. O dragon,
where is your huff and your puff,
and all fiery stuff.

They taunt with their rhymes,
and their barbed provocations,
that will get them soon.

The sky was a light,
and lit up with the burning,
high hot sun today.

The water ran off,
and trickled down the plug hole,
I watched it leaving.

A shower is good,
it wakes me up, I need that,
in the morning time.

They predict a storm,
thunder and lightning they say,
is coming our way.

The breeze blows coolly,
through the open windows now,
and give some relief.

Time is sweating on,
each tick of the clock moves slow,
dragging time along.

The change is coming,
we know that for sure, I think,
something will happen.

The doctor called me,
and said how is going now,
I said, ‘I’m not bad’.

The day’s baking hot,
the windows open are gasping,
begging for fresh air.

The road is longer,
on a hot day when walking,
it just seems to drag.

I’m tying shoes,
one at a time, is that wrong?
Try trying two then.

Work is shugging on,
in teams it is a blast not,
sometime we must talk.

Face to face is gone,
and casual conversations,
when getting coffee.

The time runs away,
and I do wish it would stay,
only for a day.

The ripples do rhyme,
and blending with each other,
they reach the far side.

That doesn’t make sense,
not a word or a concept,
the toilet is flushed.

I fanning the room,
chasing the afternoon heat,
out of my office.

the tile lay there bear,
naked to every eye they see,
but often not seen.

I scribble a note,
on a bus ticket quickly,
call me tonight please,

I don’t leave my name,
just four numbers that seem right,
for they don’t, some how.

The light goes to town,
it loves to see the lights there,
and maybe gets matched.

I am signing off,
with a good night and sleep tight,
don’t let bed bugs bite.

The light keeps searching,
over the crashing waves it looks,
but scares them away.

Temptation is real,
and it likes to surprise you,
just when you don’t care.

The river runs downhill,
I have not seen any yet,
that can run uphill.

They run marathons,
eating up mile after mile,
and winding around.

I’m not a poet,
though I can rhyme some verses,
it isn’t the same.

The weather is here,
warm and clampy it clings on,
like an evil weed.

The sky is falling,
one little cloud at a time,
but we don’t notice.

The travel’s starting,
socially distance ofcourse,
until that one comes.

I have lost the ‘the’,
from the start of each poem,
that feels much better.

Too many tadpoles,
mean too many frogs I guess,
and we can’t have that.

I write what I want,
but should I be more daring,
and write what I don’t.

Running in circles,
even if they are large ones,
and feel like striaght lines.

It is hot today,
well that is how it feels now,
I could be wrong though.

I am suffering,
it is stress of the unknown,
that eats me away.

Waking in the night,
with dreams of work and non sense,
they both look the same.