Faded Blue Flower Pattern
A collection of haiku-inspired poems.
The new neighbour scythes the tall grass of his lawn with a bright new blade.
Having worn my path to then keep flowing gently like this mountain stream.
A tear washed a black koku yoseki onto her eye's white beach.
Her smile is like a refund from the Revenue, an ambiguous pleasure.
The lights are on but the lock is changed, his key a piece of brass.
Wide mouths of fledglings in their nests of medieval ruffs, choirboys.
Thermometers stick up from graves, we take the temperatures of the dead.
The heating is off and the cooler not yet on - strangely silent house.
If my past was porcelain with a faded blue flower pattern, I wouldn't give it house room.