Hopscotch in the rain

You don’t see chalk on the pavement much anymore.

My daughters used to do it outside our house and up the street with the neighbours’ children.

I was walking to school the other day to pick my daughters up when I saw some lovely pastel chalk drawings on the pavement and it took me back to when I was a kid.

So I wrote a haiku about it.

As you do.

 

Hopscotch in the rain.

 

Chalk on the pavement;

Hopscotch memories fade, in

Fine summer drizzle.

 

 

Stellar new haiku

 

I can see the stars

Rotating in unison.

No, wait, it’s the clouds.

 

 

New haiku

Knee deep in heather,

Bright red sock wavers aloft,

Boot stuck in peat bog.

Winter Haiku

A belated Happy New Year.

This is my first post of 2015. (Not including my last post which was a reblog.)

I started following a blog by Ashi Akira and he’s inspired me to get my haiku quill out. (It’s a fascinating blog – particularly the story about the Japanese and American WWII fighter pilots – well worth a visit.)

 

Rabbit carcass rots,

Heather bends its purple head,

Wuthering Heights call.

 

Listen to the song

Of the sparrows in the hedge,

Feeding time for chicks.

Cantankerous Yorkshireman wants to be ‘liked’.

Dear Fellow Bloggers and Followers,

I wanted to ask a favour…

Hello?

Where did everyone go?

I’ve finally gotten round to setting up an author page on Facebook and I’d be very grateful if you could pop along and ‘like’ it for me. Here’s the link:

https://www.facebook.com/thereisnocavalry

What’s in it for you?

Well, you’ll get to hear the latest about what I’m working on. (Big deal.)

A sci-fi short story called ‘Little Snow’.

I’ll post some funny stuff about writing. (Meh.)

Tell it like it is.

There’ll be some words of wisdom and encouragement from famous writers. (I have a Pinterest account too, you know.)

Aaawww.

Let’s be honest, it’s really just a vehicle to promote my books. So, if you’re not that interested in novels, short stories, poetry or screenplays written by a cantankerous old Yorkshireman, then it’s probably not for you.

Buy my books!

 

 

Things for which I am grateful #41 & 42

Cherry Blossom trees and haiku poetry.

Pink Cherry Blossom

Tree rains petals upon child’s

Outstretched fingers.

If you’re unfamiliar with haiku poetry, it’s the Japanese art of writing verse in 17 syllables over three lines – 5 – 7 – 5, respectively. Although, a lot of contemporary verse tends to ignore the exact syllable count. Personally, I usually, (but not always), stick to it. I find it adds a certain amount of discipline.

The stone

Meets its reflection

As it skims across the lake.

I have a theory why non-Japanese poets ignore the syllable count because, when the great haiku poets such as Basho and Buson were translated into English, (or any other language), they didn’t conform to 5-7-5.

Maybe I’m mistaken. If anyone knows, feel free to share the knowledge.

 

Siesta time nears,

Though the fountain does not sleep.

Listen, it speaks: Shhhhhhhh.

 

By Hiroshige

Wuthering haiku

Wild marsh grass of the

Wuthering Moors, bind my legs,

So, I, am no more.

A Christmas Haiku

A brand-spanking new notebook from my beautiful girls for Christmas. With a little drawing and a message by each of them on the first two pages. Lucky Daddy.

 

Pine needles falling,

Children’s fingers rummaging,

Finding only spells.

 

‘Spell’ is also a Yorkshire colloquialism for a splinter.

Today’s Haiku

Early one morning, it struck me, as I was sitting in the dark with a cup of fresh coffee, how the world unfolds before us.

I was sitting in the dark not because; a) I can’t afford electricity, b) I’m an insomniac, or c) I’m insane.

There’s something very calming about the silence before my girls wake up. I drew the curtains and sat with my coffee peering out of the kitchen window. As dawn broke, the leafless branches of trees began to emerge from the blue darkness.

A labyrinth of

Autumn branches emerge from

Darkness as dawn breaks.

Today’s Haiku

Well, we haven’t had one of these for a while…

 

A chagrin of souls

Floating like ghostly leaves – in

An autumn forest.