April 2016
word-spent
the womb-held absolute
womb-held
autumn wind
deepening the sound of
an empty bottle
before leaf shed the plumage light retains
in a mosquito's buzz
the strand of my thoughts
pierces hers
burnt haiku
escape their failings
as they rise
star-struck night –
on earth the light shed
to banish them
ancient wisdom –
helplessly age succumbs
to extinction
a battered butterfly stalks dead blooms
tonight's moon
and something new
under the sun
mountain fog –
an aberrant will
forking paths
a feijoa's sublime nymphomania of words
angelus bell –
the flesh tone
of my limits
dew-fall night without the moon
moonless night –
spiders search out
for my heart
a tomcat
trots out unseasonal references
at the witching hour
cherry blossoms –
a cool cat reformulates
the familiar
in a rut
a haiku caterwauls
for its mate
autumn sea –
a Maui's dolphin skirts
the sixth extinction
season of fog
and mould'ring fruitfulness . . .
what sound my song now?
morning fog
I feel my way through
past, present or future
fog-bound
light takes on
an overtone
of words
morning mass –
light presses down
as manna
light relief from dawn to dusk
rustic moon –
my hidden self leaves
the city
the moon
within a sliver
of shadow
moon charmed
the Kaipara harbours
God's presence
a butterfly
not a leaf left
by the wind