Hello all
As most of you know, I write haiku, but have recently been spurred to write longer works. These are very much early incarnations but I thought I would share here anyway.
You may notice where a line in this one is shamelessly drawn from!
Falling
The leaves are always falling
I try to catch them in my gloved hands
To push them back onto the branches.
It only seems like last year
when everything turned yellow
and a single bed became my home.
How many autumns make a life?
I would settle for two more Hallowe’ens
Or one Bonfire Night.
Driving to school
I see the woodpile stacked up high,
already larger than last year.
Firewood turns to ash
and does not become
firewood again.
“You don’t want to go down there
This is crow country.”
My hands still smell
of wormwood and my arms hurt.
Maybe we could start a fire
just until the sun sets?
Setting up camp
at the head of the valley,
the clouds gather all the orange
from the sky, and we share
the last pieces of bread.
As most of you know, I write haiku, but have recently been spurred to write longer works. These are very much early incarnations but I thought I would share here anyway.
You may notice where a line in this one is shamelessly drawn from!
Falling
The leaves are always falling
I try to catch them in my gloved hands
To push them back onto the branches.
It only seems like last year
when everything turned yellow
and a single bed became my home.
How many autumns make a life?
I would settle for two more Hallowe’ens
Or one Bonfire Night.
Driving to school
I see the woodpile stacked up high,
already larger than last year.
Firewood turns to ash
and does not become
firewood again.
“You don’t want to go down there
This is crow country.”
My hands still smell
of wormwood and my arms hurt.
Maybe we could start a fire
just until the sun sets?
Setting up camp
at the head of the valley,
the clouds gather all the orange
from the sky, and we share
the last pieces of bread.
for positive poetry 優婆塞 台 婆
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