Kite Haiku

Primary colours
splash the slate sky; thin strings tie
dun earth to green sea.


Dream kite drank the sky,
ripped my fingers for freedom,
dragged me off my feet.


Unreliable
winds: my kite lifts, loops, crashes,
snaps my hopes in sand.


Picked up. Patched up. Climb
high on a steady breeze:
lift my heart again.


You smile, feint, escape,
soar away. I stand limp-stringed,
dropped, directionless.

Jo's Haiku

Free will or destined?

Oh Pandora’s paradox!

The serpent’s tongue flicks.

Joanna Bagshaw

Poppies

Blood-troubled ground grew
poppies. Poppy country still
commands bloody graves.

Autumnal colour,
gold, copper, brass shavings, bronze:
a hard time of year.

Why Haiku?

Why haiku? Because,
like hand-made sweets, each mouthful
has a new flavour.

Now is already
past. We build giant's castles
on flimsy moments.

Haiku

Poems in scattered
fragments, each word a half-rhyme
in search of a pair.

A vault full of keys
in all varieties; none
will unlock this door.

Haiku

She wore her stories
like jewellery; we found them
as we cleared her flat. 

Buried in bedclothes,
curled up, foetal, an old man
cries for his mummy.

Haiku

An eighty percent
chance of rain; tomorrow is
only probable.

Photographs torn up,
memories maimed; I am left
with storyless frames.

 

Two Haiku

Mice live fast. No breath
for poems. Just for basics:
birth, food, sex, birth, death.

Autumn's gilt tarnished
to parchment; pauper winter
spits ice at my door.