awake

or dreaming still…

she fills her pen

with the ink of night

writes a score for the birds

no one to wipe

the tears of morning…

winter rain

I breathe a memory

of wild petals

if I could read

the poems of wildflowers…

whose breath is scent

whose dreams

are butterflies

myself and I

just passers by until

on reflection

I find myself crying

in a shop window

a necklace

of red glass beads

a gift from you

broken so long ago…

re-strung in this robin’s song

in the shadows

of wintering shrubs

the first tender shoots…

falling in love

when I said never again

first light

a busker on the corner

of my dreams

with each burst of birdsong

a silver coin in her hat

in tubs and baskets

on the flower stall

forced spring bulbs…

I always had to ask

if you loved me

stuck and unstuck

colour and texture

rearranged

in the hands of a child

this collage of me

a drop

from the cauldron

of inspiration…

branch to branch, between her thoughts

a dancing beam of light

morning sky

fishing for compliments

rose-coloured contrail

reeling in

the sunrise

night lifts to her head

a clay pot of moonlight

drawn from the stream

where she goes, I follow

barefoot across the stars

all at sea

with nothing to clasp

but the ship’s wheel

of the waxing moon…

I plot a course through the stars

awake before you

I watch the light

come into your face…

with buds at her fingertips

spring stirs the naked trees

birdsong

a silver ribbon

on the gift of this day…

deep in its quiet heart

a tree turns full circle

once again

this light-fingered day

takes off with the sun…

when I catch it

I’ll make it turn out its pockets

worn at the edges

A Long Rainy Season

my gift to myself

…a daughter’s inscription

to a Mum who loved tanka

blue tits

on the bare willow,

dabs of summer sky…

she steps back from the moment,

writes her name in the east

the courage

it takes to love…

what am I now

but a droplet on a leaf-tip

at the mercy of the breeze…

top down

I cruise into a memory

of summer

my hair flying

in the wind

eroded by time

great rocks of words

sing

in saltwater…

I taste them on my lips

if you must

outshine me, Venus,

be the silver pin

that keeps in place

this swatch of indigo

that star

in the far reaches

of the sky…

you showed me it was floating

on the river of my dreams

snowflakes

on wet asphalt…

my life goes faster

the older

I get

words

waiting in the ink…

the bated breath

of unwritten

twilight

she sleeps

in a glass coffin

waiting for his kiss…

filling her pen with green ink

spring begins her fairytale

returning

to the street of a memory

smoke rising

through shades of blue

alto sax riff

(Gerry Rafferty RIP)

folded

inside the chrysalis

the blueprint of spring…

on the brink of womanhood

the jewel colours of your heart

in China blue

with a fine sable brush

a distant flock of birds…

her attention to detail,

morning sky

from a droplet

world within a world

you filled me . . .

I brought you home

to lilacs in full bloom

stirring

my mind spirals

into the dawn–

the ink of a blackbird’s song

winding through water

clutching at the hope

that one day I will

get through to you…

the warm trickle of blood

from the stone in my hand

(Haiku News)

New Year’s Day

a squirrel turns over

another brown leaf . . .

the unexpected treasure

in an everyday moment

the song of the tree

written in its grain

I have come to know you

by the shape

of your words

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