Haiku
Quietly filling
deep cups of the red blossoms.
The morning sunrise.
The rock bowl is full.
Filled by the rain for the birds
and for my quiet mind.
Dried stalks of rhubarb
turn brittle in the summer.
Born again next year.
The sparrows come back
to say thank you for their home
I lovingly made.
My red dogs eyes gleam.
Before eating, her eyes ask
is it OK Dad?
HAIKU; MEMORIES AND OBSERVATIONS and EXERCISES
Archery
The strong bowstring sings.
My arrow will find its home
I turn to sip tea.
First Love
How reluctantly
the shy, young man moves forward
toward the full, red lips.
First
In the maiden’s bed
He found his heaven and hell.
Such was his first love.
Alone
Small favor to ask.
Please spread my ashes on the sea.
No wife, no roommate.
Who is Buddah
She poured my green tea
Until the cup ran over.
Now, I know Buddah.
Memory
Cousin Roni was loud.
Married a Samoan man.
They both ate roast pig.
Memory
My old friend, Bucky.
Carried a gun in his boot.
Afraid of himself.
Old Friend
Alvin slapped his first wife
and then he married a man.
I don’t know him now.
Exercise I
Diagonally
he crosses the wide, busy street,
to catch up with love.
Exercise II
Vociferously,
she announces her mistrust.
Not Republican.
Exercise III
She knew the problem.
Incompatibility.
He had to learn it.
All his writing was
autobiographical.
He was egocentric.
SEASONS
The autumn raging
I am blinded by red leaves.
Too many to count.
Surf crashes fiercely.
Shadows lessen, skies turn gray.
Winter storm moves near us.
This Spring, my house burned.
I now have a better view
of the blue mountains.
Fresh ink on blue lines
the words come like hungry bees
to form my Haiku.
Synch
Summer. I feel strong.
Equal to birds in the tree,
and pebbles near feet.
Copyright © Thomas Pitre | Year Posted 2007
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