on your grave
the lilies of the valley
hang their heads

Early morning in early spring. The streets feel emptier than ever. No sunlight, no leaves, no people. Occasional cars pass, but there’s no chance of encounter. Apparently, people have seen foxes in this area. Nothing yet. Not even a cat. In amongst the houses and offices are occasional shops. Mostly shuttered, but a few still dare to face the city with naked glass. Short on stimulus, I peer in.

everything must go
the urgent catalogue
of a song thrush

Slowly, ever so slowly, the light changes. Twilight teases. That’s consolation of a sort, but I’ll only see the sun today if I run an errand. There’s a brutality to my timetable at this time of year. Perhaps I should take vitamin D supplements and adjust my Serotonin Transporter Protein with a light box. Even on a Goldilocks planet, not everything is “just right”.

back and forth
between the equinoxes
striving for balance

coffee from the ground down

post proof the whole truth takes too long

remember when you thought you could crack cocaine

dog violet
looking at the world
through different spectra

the first time -
and Iiiiiiii e i e i
will always

a rabbit
in my headlights
our shared helplessness

house clearance
her pet cat’s ghost
in the dust bunnies

my unhappy place
       it's so hard to leave
              the floodgates open

moorland stroll
a harsh wind winnowing
the calls of finches

maths homework
no way to eliminate
the negative

strip tease …
the naked skeletons
of winter

wasp
on piano keyboard
out of tune

 
shadows
flicker in firelight
ballerina

crossroads
nothing left
looking anyway

. . . oh
the emptiness
as it filled your mouth

side by side
in a cheap hotel room
phone chargers

hedgerow perils
a chime of wrens
ringing alarm

zooming in
on mortality
the meeting cancelled

full moon chatter
an eagle owl
fluffing white neck feathers

lovers –
the intimacy
of shadows

Stardust Haiku. Issue 30 - June 2019

an old photo
seeing in his eyes
what was lost

The narrow lane leads to the abandoned farmhouse, hidden behind blackberry bushes. The fence is still recognizable. The gateposts lean sideways; the gate is rusty and falls apart.

The roof beams can be seen between broken slates and tufts of grass. Flaking white colour matures on the walls.

A holy figure is faintly visible behind the dust and spider web covered window panes. Swallows announcing spring build their nests under the gutters. The wooden door, in faded red, opens for the midday sun.

Inside there is a dresser with broken crockery; a table with a mass leaflet on top, dating from Christmas 2007; a crossword puzzle, which has not been finished; and a chair with three legs. The fireplace seems long unattended.

stone wall
a snail leaves traces
on worn leather