Wife counts our few coins
I count syllables of verse,
How many winters left?
Wife counts our few coins
I count syllables of verse,
How many winters left?
ο»Ώ
Tell the crows shut up
My grandbabies are sleeping
Their mother is out.
My late mother’s voice
Complaining from the parlour;
Her budgerigar.
The cold second month–
Robins sneak spring in early
For my wife’s birthday.
Old tree’s branches bare
But for a long vacant nest
On verge of tumbling.
Lumps of bean pastry
Stretch and yawn and lie around
Dreaming of tuna.
Struts and shocks are shot
On the old faithful Camry.
Wife wants a new car
With no dashboard cassette deck
For me to hear The Eagles.
NOTE: thank you all for the kind words about my haiku and tanka.
Jill, I do try and incorporate seasonal references and/or those of nature.
But a few times I do not. Just to be ornery. – Bruce
Oh, my lucky cats!
Chasing only moths and string,
Not job interviews.
That lily remains,
Embraced by muddied shallows;
All else washed away.
Raining so gentle
Not a leaf nor blossom breaks,
Squirrels hardly notice.
Loving maples so,
She rakes the neighboring yards
After doing her own.
The rains hide themselves
A rumbling herd of Harleys,
Black helmets flash by.
Sexuality
Ground dark with a shot of sass
Percolating fast
In the creamy whip of fringed
Skirts– ah, my long gone era!
Sound of woodpeckers
Carving and etching springtime
Into our morning.
In this green suburb
I lounge outside with a book;
All day chain saws shriek!
All the dirty cars
Washed by unexpected rain,
The lazy give thanks!
the knock and rattle
of a diesel in winterβ
my late fatherβs voice
βG. Kinnard
Tonight’s leaves and rain
Rap sharply on my windows,
Cats beneath covers.
Is that a barn owl?
Or is it mama tabby
Snoring by the hearth?
Enjoying Life In New Ways
Poetry, Photography, haiku,
the literary asylum
Wherever I lay my pen, that's my home
my humanity in written form
Guitarist / Songwriter
Poetry, Fiction & Photography
New content every Sunday.
Tales from the mouth of a wolf
a collection of words about my average, bog-standard life accompanied by some sub-par illustrations that depict selected moments in said life
Tales of humour, whimsy and courgettes
π³ππππ πππ! π»πππ ππππππ!
to be worth sharing
Domenic Garisto / LIFE IS NOT A REHERSAL,SO LIVE IT..if you can't be the poet, be the poem..havau22.com
One Poet's Writing Practice
My thousand lines..
A Poet's Place | Wolff Poetry Literary Magazine is Publishing Poetry Submitted by Published & Emerging Writers,