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.
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I can see the stars
Rotating in unison.
No, wait, it’s the clouds.
Knee deep in heather,
Bright red sock wavers aloft,
Boot stuck in peat bog.
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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.
Cherry Blossom trees and haiku poetry.
Pink Cherry Blossom
Tree rains petals upon child’s
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.
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.
Wild marsh grass of the
Wuthering Moors, bind my legs,
So, I, am no more.
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.
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.
Well, we haven’t had one of these for a while…
A chagrin of souls
Floating like ghostly leaves – in
An autumn forest.