“buddleia”

buddleia
burnt out
first frost

Daily Haiku
Cycle 15
      

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“grandpa’s desk”

grandpa’s desk the woodworm engram

Daily Haiku
Cycle 15
     

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Dad

He looms hesitantly through the frosted glass, then opens the door. He stares out, eyes like a South Park character’s, then his face fumbles a smile.  I try not to overhug his rigid frailty.  Inside, the house smells of dust and laundry. 

Dad shuffles, hands shaking, to the kitchen.  Carrier bags full of not-put-away shopping encumber the floor.  On the table are several boxes from Meals on Wheels, some opened, some untouched.  I can barely hear his dry mumble as he asks if I want a cup of tea. 

                                                                  Dad’s shed
                                                             webs on a box of
                                                             high tensile bolts

Contemporary Haiku Online 9,3
       

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Our Nose

Noses run in our family.  I inherited mine from my mother and have, in turn, passed the heirloom on to my kids.  When my mother was young, and such things mattered, she was often asked if she was Jewish.  I have been asked this once or twice myself.  But Mum was a catholic, although she brought us up to be godless, and as far as she knew our family was one hundred percent anglo-saxon.  But then my sister took an interest in genealogy.  She traced our maternal grandfather’s family back to immigrant labourers who settled in Dorset at the start of the 19th century.  The first three generations all had floridly biblical names.

                                                      forget-me-nots
                                                   the blue pigment’s
                                                        genetic code

Contemporary Haibun Online 9,3
October 2013

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“change of weather”

change of weather
a saffron kagoul
over the friar’s cassock

 

Daily Haiku

Cycle 15

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“autumn rain”

autumn rain
the face of a cut log
darkens

Daily Haiku
Cycle 15
  

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“evening mist”

evening mist
the stable’s
shifting quiet

Daily Haiku
Cycle 15
 

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