Haiku

If this summer's heat,

can put all of us out, won't -

jet fuel melt steel beams?

A dolorous heat

engulfs land, and air alike.

Even jays are now slow.

The hunter awakens,

disturbed by flapping of wings.

But laziness reigns.

Arrival of dusk–

Assuages the day’s heat.

Fat cats stalk tired birds.

Evening’s zephyr –

whistles through unlatched windows

wind chimes startle cats.

Valley wind picks up –

drying out loam on brook’s banks.

frog cries desolate.

Wake to golden sky;

the wind whistles, makes leaves dance.

flute’s voice tinkles through.

Bees are out in force

Honey and pollination

Spring is truly gone.

Window cracked slightly,

Humidifier on full,

Fussing babies cry.

A hot morning’s wait –

murmuring, lines grow longer.

Mother fans infant.

Fan arcs slowly –

Fits of cool air on my neck.

I count my lucky stars.

Sweet nectarines

Let summer pass quickly by;

Can’t fruits stay awhile?

Lasagna for lunch-

clear skies, white clouds, and slow jazz.

Canicular blues?

Spreadsheets unending;

flickering computer screen.

Dolorous summer.

First things first: Where can

one find wine around here? Now

I can write in peace.

Awoke to bird song —

birds flitting in my backyard,

Flying, feeding. Sweet.

Abed, reading – with

a glass of wine at hand.

Weekend, finally.

Up well before dawn–

the only cool part of the day–

Quietude. Envy?

An overcast day

Clouds gather, minatory;

Can I still read books?

Thank god they’re so short.

insipid, trite, clamorous,

These be bad haiku.

The day’s plan laid out–

and an ambitious one, too!

No Monday blues here.

Filled with twists and turns,

The day begins and ends, but

Did it really end?

The manuscript sits,

awaiting review — why must

I stall so ? Chop Chop.

A dark morning with

sighs of snow, lightly falling.

Are the trains running?

Must get away from

my desk — at least a moment,

Need light and fresh air!

Need some quiet time —

got to figure out what to

do next — what to write.

Up quite early. Write?

A more peaceful time to let

words flow? I don’t know.

Occasional rain —

on tin roof, over my head.

A good day to write.

Exhilaration.

Then, imminent crash.

With each verse that’s done.

The moon — cruel mistress!

Kept me awake all night. Night

was day. My mind raced.

The blue wall lit pink

Cherry blossom shadows: Dawn

Illusions of warmth ?

This week, like others.

Narrow country roads; ever

twisting and turning.

Walk through frosted fields

Crunch of leaves, or icicles?

Dawn greets us, frigid.

Up, awake at dawn —

Austere quiet invades hallways

at ungodly hours.

Winter’s dreary light

and sallow colours filter

to rouse half closed eyes

Frozen blades glisten —

light from rising sun glances

off stiff ice-glazed grass.

Rise early, watch the grey

skies lighten; washing dishes.

All quiet, in repose.

A lazy morning —

sunlight filters through gaps in

drawn blinds. Dust motes swirl.

Night sky full of stars

past airport security

staccato laughter.

Lying awake to

chase sleep. It’s dawn, writing

haiku, not dreaming.

a night spent sleepless

tossing, turning, then writhing

fretting, awake. Ugh.

“For we rise at dawn . . .”

Climbed in bed, with this in head —

Now I’m wide awake.

Rain on window pane

means little sleep — quietude —

too much time to think.

Rain on the shutters

drip, ever slowly, drip drip

led to little sleep.

Writer’s heart yearns, but

Paris is no Mussoorie

“The Room on the Roof”

Insomnia quaffs

my brain half of useful thought

the heat takes the rest.

Drills whir, hammers bang,

Walk fast, walk past, meetings fill –

today’s calendar.

Opening my eyes

to sunlight through the curtains.

a spring bird’s song. Bliss.

One cup of coffee

and then will tackle all the

work I have to do