Faded Blue Flower Pattern
A collection of haiku-inspired poems
Thermometers stick up from graves as we take the temperature of the dead.
Having worn my path to then keep flowing gently like this mountain stream.
Wide mouths of fledglings in their nests of medieval ruffs, choirboys.
The new neighbour scythes through the lawn's tall grass with a bright new blade.
A tear washed a black 'koku yoseki' onto her eye's white beach.
Her smile is an ambiguous pleasure like a refund from the Revenue.
The lights are on but the locks are changed, his keys are now merely bits of metal.
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 have it in my home.