empty, hollow words
unable to find healing
trust that’s been trampled
June 5, Haiku : Trampled Trust
Tag: haiku
June 4, 2020: Reflexes of Pain
human reflexes
to inflict pain upon those
we believe hurt us
A cycle of destruction that threatens to consume us all.
Rain in the Moonlight
rain atop the roof
calm, staccato memories
droplets of moonbeamsÂ
An afternoon haiku
fresh spring rains
glistening sunlight
bees hidden
June 2, 2020 Haiku
a springtime moment
some cat holding a sparrow
blood on its whiskers
These are troubling times, aren’t they? I wonder what it would take for humanity to seek connection instead of division. Perhaps I’m naive to think that such a thing is possible. Perhaps. Yet I’ll cling to my hope.
Haiku, May 30, 2020
a day filled with rain
I avoid the damp puddles
circles flow outwards
A day of rain and thunder, such an abnormally in Seattle. Well, not the rain; that’s still quite common. Yet today I opted to forgo my evening walk. Just wasn’t in the mood to be soaked, cold and shivering.
This evening’s haiku, May 28, 2020
blossom petals fall
with their vibrant, violet hues
hinting at summer
Against all odds, I hold onto hope. Hard in this mad , rage-filled world.
An evening haiku : May 27, 2020
the sun through the trees
lovely warmth upon my skin
while junkos fly past
My evening walks have been a key element of my sanity during these trying times. The weather’s been lovely, so this walk has been truly wonderful.
Seattle’s Grown, As Have I
Ok, this is not a haiku nor a poem. I hope you can forgive the deviation from my norm. Today I read a piece by Seattle writer Angela Garbes. It resonated deeply with me, so I wanted to share with you, my friends.
Published in the Seattle Met, “As Seattle Grew, I grew Up” mirrors my own experience. I, too, spent my ‘feral 20s’ wandering Capitol Hill, where I lived the better part of 10 years of my life. Seeking the urban as a cyclist seeking a car-free life, and the vibrancy I imagined coming with concrete. Years making mostly minimum wage, yet able to survive. Gentrification just starting to squeeze. I being able to rise up the wage rungs quickly enough to stay above the flood waters of economic calamity.
My revisits come filled with memories. Oh, “this was here”, and “that was there”. Then “what WAS here”? Memories combine with memory’s absence; strange feelings, ones that I’m not quite used to.
“Cities are meant to change”. Seattle’s changed, quite a bit. Driving home how time has passed, how much older I’ve become. Things I’m not quite ready to accept, so they keep rearing up. Such is the way of things I guess.
Well, I’ll finish with a haiku: it’s what my soul wants.
these old concrete walks
echoing my youth’s footsteps
urban memories
This morning’s haiku: this age of rage
in this time of rage
invective traded like cash
poetry’s my peace
Checked Twitter this morning. So much rage. I’m not sure there’s not anyone without veins bulging nor invective dripping from their lips, a poison so sweet, so deadly.
I’m glad I have this little garden on the internet, where I can delight in life and growth, not what’s been burned beyond recognition.
