-
now
Yesterday was a good day.
-
Midwinter
The moon hovers — Almost-fat, Ghost-thin — In the sapphire sky. The solstice sun — Scarlet-fury, Winter-weak — Slips through skeletal trees. My breath curls — Word-smoke, Lung-hope — With the forest mist. The Earth dreams — Frost-blanketed, Ice-cosy — And I listen, still.
-
not quite a Tanka; to remember
Little Boy dropped On Hiroshima, in ’45. Buddha’s heart melted As Enola Gay swept by, Leaving the thunder of apocalypse’s hooves In its wake.
-
two poems, via Japan
Today I was in a Haiku mood, so I came up with this: The heart is swallowed By despair’s gravity. The mind orbits mute. I wasn’t in the sweetest of moods when I came up with that one, but that’s why writing is a useful cathartic experience. Even the blackest of humours is fodder for something. Then, I considered writing a Tanka, which is a longer form of a Haiku. I wondered if I could write a micro-fiction–with an SF feel– in Tanka form. This was the result: Shattered, I report. Gore vibrates off matt armour. He listens, eyes bright With data streams; orders. “We remain.” I nod, aghast. I…
