Homey Haiku


sleepy shade of glass

awakes, and blinks in spoonfuls

of honey-bright light.



a bouncing tangle

of apple-kissed locks sit with

legs crossed in a pot.



traveller of clouds–

now citizen of this small

snuggly home, welcome.



the sun probes the house

with thick, relentless tongues that

leave behind gold dust.


I fear the taste of stale water:

the waste of fetid fishtank gunk,

I fear the hot air grows hotter,

the heat of lost hopes, pipe dreams sunk.

I fear the future’s daughter

and her bright, accusing eyes;

I fear that time grows shorter

between her birth and our demise.

I fear that we have bought her,

like the soldier persuades a monk –

with blood, and fists, and torture;

consider the water drunk.




if only I could bottle you like drops of mountain spring

and hang you round my throat upon some blessed religious string;

then the droughts would not score cracks into my sucking chest,

but be nourished, filled to full and tamed with happy rest.

But oh, you are as flighty as the scent of morning air

caressing once – and then, is lost, dissolved in everywhere.