Writing, Reading, and Smiling . . . It's Contagious.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Murmuring that Creeps into the Life of a Wandering Soul...

Haiku is a wad of yellowed paper with cheesy drawings.

When I was cleaning a closet several months ago, I happened upon a dog-eared folder. Tucked inside was a jumble of mismatched poems (mostly haiku) printed neatly with a rainbow of colored pencils. Each yellowed page was accented with childish doodles that frolicked around the edges. Ah, youth!

As I grew older, haiku became a way to express my imaginings and explore my journey through life, thought, and maturation. Walk with me now down a narrow path edged with silver-sprigged lavender and listen to the murmuring that creeps into the life of a wandering soul...

Cool morning and breeze
Lavender hangs in the air
Don't close the window

Characters, play nice
stop wandering in white space

Straining my brown eyes
by the light of green lilies
See how they flicker?

I inflate the tires
as weeds choke the spindly fern
A toad hears the hiss

The white morning mist
and the scent of an aged sun
write old tales, new dreams

Rain tickles the screens
As I peer through the window
Tears flow steadily

The shimmering dew
beneath the aged coral sun
cries upon my shoes.

Crickets in the night
chirp to be heard in the crowd
We are all insects

I remember when
the seasons held no purpose
tears rained from our lies

How many people
write frosty words in the snow,
dreading the warm sun?

The window is closed,
trapping me in this stale box
of dried memories

When I was little
I thought notions not spoken
were words in a cloud

What am I doing?
Ignoring hunger pangs and
feeding my vision

Autumn shakes the trees
as tense leaves contrive to bare
their dying splendor

Autumn trickles down
parched window panes, melting like
snow on timid tongues.

Brown leaves cry beneath
bored feet, victimized by the
synthetic souls' stride

Morning will not come;
the light of initiative
was smothered by doubt.

I lay down my head
and hide behind watchful eyes
The harvest has died

The snow will not fall
upon the shadows of trees
Think of me and breathe


As always, I love to hear from you. If you’re in the cyber-neighbourhood, drop me a line. In the meantime, keep writing, reading, and smiling. It’s contagious.


Mar said...

You should enter the Susan's competition

I wish I had a thimble of your creativeness, I might have been able to submit a Haiku with a chance to win one of her fabulous journals. xx

J.E. Seanachaí said...

Thanks for the lovely compliment, Mar!

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