Seasons

You get burst banks and pretty lilies,
broken umbrellas and sumptuous potatoes.

You get grazing mosquitoes and sizzling sun, 
insect repellent and thick cream on your warm skin.

You get foreign flus and fresh air, 
dry skin and crunchy leaves beneath your feet.

You get slush after the snowman and the angels,
perpetual nights and new takes on Christ’s birth.

The seasons change and the cycle remains
there is light, there is darkness,
in light, bask and have your fill
in darkness, slow down, wrap up, make tea
and prepare for light.

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October

Head above sea of crimson sheets
anchored to my camomile cup,
staving off October’s tenebrosity,
watching rays roguishly rain on my window pane
pained that my spirit remains stained,
stagnant as trapped pools in dead leaves
as vices of last October
linger like moss on washed up rocks…

Haiku XL

October is jammed
Between subtle Septembers,
Nordic Novembers

autumn

autumn has brought with it death and despair
    as leaves combust and
dive, a withered heart is in repair

    winds have brought with them
the gales of expectation trapped in suspended breath
    with promise of a thrill at summer’s hem

        what a time for a fire to kindle
    when the trees are stripped
and the branches brittle

Blacksburg Haiku I

For resurrection:

Blades brown and kiss earth before

Summer’s sudden storms

Seasons

Every winter I lose a glove or a hat,

Put on a tinsy bit of weight

Like a slender grizzly ready to hibernate

 

Every spring I lose an umbrella

Actually, I’ve never bought one

At some point I’m caught out like a drowned salmon

 

Every summer I get a heat rash below my neck

My West African ancestors look down and wonder why

Stranger still, when the sun is out I lose a sock or a tie

 

Every autumn, I plant something new

Winds and hurricanes come and shake my branches

I lose a friend or some summer romances

 

So in sun, sleet, slick or slide

Which season will I lose my heart to Love

And would she trust me at all?

Spring

Soon the sun will shine longer,

sleeves will roll shorter,

leaves will open further,

your love for me, however

will not blossom this spring, nor ever.

Haiku XXXVIII

Summer’s golden locs

Shimmering in autumn’s breeze

Wither in winter