Weed and Dust

Ronovan Haiku Challenge: Prompts – Weed and Dust

Haiku - Weed and Dust

   The symbol was clear:
a perfect ellipse where I
   had weed in the dust.
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Hibernation

Hibernation

The garden is sodden now,
  these days of rain creating
pools our boots splash in.
  I see you watching the falling   
rain from our bedroom window.
  The electric blanket's on.
Perhaps we'll winter here.
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Drip and Drop

Ronovan Haiku Challenge: Prompts – Drip and Drop

Drop and Drop

The constant drip, drip,
drip of misinformation
makes me scream...DROP DEAD!
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What It’s Not and What It Is

What It's Not and What It Is

It's not the sun that rises.
It's not the moon that sets.
It's not the stars all tipping
On towards the West.

It's not the blackbird singing.
It's not the howling dog.
It's not the fox attempting
Cartwheels in the fog.

It is the darkness looming.
It is the passing sense.
It is the abolition
Of the present tense.
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Portent (ii)

Portent (ii)

Well, I was in the shop
getting things for tea;
when checking out
I realised
I didn't have
the means to pay with me.

I left the shopping there
and, quick as I was able,
walked back
to the flat
and there it was,
my wallet on the table.
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The Storm

My contribution to the Prompt 25, Haiku and Decima Challenge posted by Ronovan. Cheers.

Haiku

   We notice how warm
it becomes before the storm,
     yet you wait, poised, calm.


The Storm - A Decima

Across the sea there is a storm
approaching. We see the rain fall
distantly, will hit as a squall
quite soon. The dark clouds start to form
demonic shapes beyond the norm,
beyond our usual reckoning.
We see a light that's beckoning
us into safe harbour until 
the storm blows out, the air is still,
we drink to what the seasons bring.
   

Reservation

Reservation

It's Friday in the pub.
There's a notice on the table,
"Reserved: 6.30: Butters".

And amid the hubbub
I hear a comment thus,
"Them? Fucking nutters!"
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Happiness

Happiness

A morning without rain.
A day I don't have to see
somebody sacked.
An evening without news.
A picket line.
The presence of people I love.
An absence of things.
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At the Railway Station, Upwey.

At the Railway Station, Upwey

You would not recognise it now,
surrounded as it is with neat
homes, a net curtained wilderness
winding to the Ridgeway.

Yet as the wind wanes
and Sunday men look up from
washed cars, the air reveals
notes played in a high register:

unmistakably, a violin.

17 Licks

17 Licks 

Small fish swim down stream
from deep pools where they were hatched
      spawned a million times

                              
              This small dish of rain
            shines like a plate of bright sun
                  caught in flagrante

    
   Coal fires flame inside
the belly of an engine
       rising to full steam


               Rails glint in moonlight
             frost covers up the edges
                   of a cold platform


    Where the blackbird sings
slow dawn slithers up to see
       who has breakfast first


                Foxes scream at night
             fearing us and attracting 
                    friends for company


     When you sleep my love
 dark night coils around your form
        keeping safe your heart


                 In a tree house topped
             by green leaved branches bending
                     in the wind   you sit


      Full of praise for fun
the small comedian laughed as
         he died of stage fright


                  Pigeons sit above
             the heads of travellers splat
                       by white spots of shit


       Where contention reigns
 sanity is not intact
         conflict batters peace


                   Shoes that do not fit
               pinch the toes  the insteps swell
                        the feet start aching


       Drinking in a pub
  though costly and frowned upon
          socialises you


                    A morning of rain
               before the grass can be cut
                        an afternoon's rest


       That black dress you wore
  we were drinking in that bar
          your legs smooth and brown


                     The sun on hot sand
               burned onto your feet as you
                        ran into the sea


        The garden you dig
   deeper than the depth of soil
           grows from inside you
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