Haiku

 

These Hands He Held

He held her hands

tracing 

the bulging veins

and the wrinkles

of a life 

and time 

together.

He laughed 

at the 

chewed down nails

remembering 

family feasts 

and celebrations

she'd planned 

and plotted 

and lamented over

and the worn places 

she'd paced

in nighttime vigils

for fevered tots.

These hands 

he held 

had weathered 

like the granite rocks

from which 

he'd built a hearth

to be the centre 

of their home -

but she

he knew 

was the centre 

of their home.

And as 

he reached 

the lifeline

on those hands 

so full 

of her stories

he held her tight

kissed her 

and gently 

said goodbye. 

(I found this stunning photo taken by Mishelved on Pixabay)

Haiku

 Sad thoughts fill her head,

paintings of dreams left behind.

Summer leaves falling.

Haiku

 All down the street

sweet scents tickle my nose ...

must be spring.

Haiku

 Elephants

running through the mist -

cloud pictures.

Haiku

  

Autumn breezes

push the leaves this way and that, 

wind serenade.

Moth Boy

 How strange 

that I should find him

sitting here at my feet 

in this music room.

I first met Moth Boy 

as he was monikered 

by my daughter 

clinging to the walls

of her nightmares 

when she was but 

a very little girl. 

He returned 

from time to time

over the years 

and each time 

I watched 

my daughter's fear 

gradually give way

to the possibility 

that Moth Boy

was bringing with him 

tidings of change

in her life.

His visits she said 

coincided with 

new beginnings 

and transformations

and fear transcended.

Moth Boy she said 

offered her his wings 

to fly above her fear

then one day 

she grew wings 

of her own

and Moth Boy 

came no more

until now 

in this music room

where I sit 

with budding wings

making ready 

to fly 

above my fear.

Haiku

 Grassy skirts asway,

playful sea breeze ups tempo.

Palm tree dancer.

In the Hills of Bangalow

 The glow 

of the fire

flushes cheeks 

munching rapturously

on sweet treats

crafted by  a wizard's 

heart and hands,

her kitchen alive 

 with the savoury aroma

of tastes to come.

Sighs of ecstasy

fill the silences

between 

the crackling 

of the logs

as comfort 

envelops the room.

Beside me, 

corduroy legs,

 shoes abandoned,

curl catlike 

on the sofa. 

If only I could 

bend far enough

to untie 

my laces.

Haiku

 Shadow puppets

dance across the wooded grove -

sun puppeter.

Wings to Fly

 I am propelled to write down

thoughts that fill my head.

Some days they're full of laughter

some days it's tears -

the days are such.

This day there's a grappling

with cruel words

coursing from mouths 

and pens uncaring

or is it just unthinking

of their mark. 

There's an unkindness 

in this world

the seeds probably sown

at the dawn of time

now propagated and evolved

into a cruel monster

lurking in this thing

called social media.

It makes me want to 

gather up my family

wrap them in my wings

and keep them safe forever

but they too have wings

and want to use them to fly

so I jam pack their hearts

with love and things

that glow in dark places

let go

and watch them take flight.

(This captivating Pixabay photo by Pexels)