Haiku: February 18 - May 5

 Chill of the morning 
Finds only the brave go out
With hands in pockets

Restless thoughts adorn 
My head on the sleepless nights
Sparkle like dark thorns. 

Assume it's just one
And it will turn out all right.
We're talking waffles.

Small cat paused near door
Unaware we watched nearby
Slipped into the fog

What is the morning
But the cessation of sleep
And opening eyes?

An obligation
To repay a debt incurred
A heavy burden.

First flower blooming
Adorn the trees and meadows
Shake off winter's gloom.

Cannot sleep any more
Sun peeking in the window.
Might as well get up.

Walk on gilded paths.
Lined golden with fallen leaves.
And edged in shadow.

Piles of grey clouds loom.
Lie on morning's horizon.
Rain is expected.

Cherry blossoms drift
Settle to the ground softly
Stirred by the breezes.

Lemon aroma.
Shiny green leaves fill one side
And block the neighbor.

Move the clocks one hour.
Lose an hour, not recovered
Til later this year.

Dead bugs on the floor.
Are the last things I want to see.
Because they have friends.

Path winds between trees.
Lazily without purpose.
Until the meadow.

Rocks piled remember.
The divide we agreed upon.
Don't move one further. 

Clouds break, grey to blue.
Haze obscuring the distance.
But its clear nearby.

Do not move the stones.
Set up by your forefathers.
Someone will notice.

Water dripping down.
The window outside my house
Until the sun peeks out. 

Whimsical wind blows. 
Tossing leaves and toppling pots.
Tugging on jackets.

Angry loud voices.
Rough threats in the evening.
What will the night bring?

Days like falling petals.
Lie unappreciated.
Under passing feet.

Settting aside clothes 
To put in traveling bags
To fly tomorrow. 

Rain in the gutters.
The early morning pattern.
Making me get up. 

Smell of dough rising
Coffee gurgling and gasping
Promising morning.

No five seven five.
No three lines and nature themes.
No haiku for me.

Dew drops on a leaf.
Before the sunlight hits the lawn.
Cat pauses mid-stride.

Ponder the music.
No words but something is stirred.
Then it fades away.

Under the white moon.
Along the brightly lit strees.
We walked happily.

As a child I thought.
The dark was a scary place.
Now dawn is too bright.

On April mornings
The air is full of bird sounds. 
Oh what a racket.

In distance calling.
Gesturing for us to see.
What you are doing. 

Heady, stinky blooms.
Of plums and cherry flowers.
How I miss this place!

If the world stopped today. 
Would there be something undone?
Or would the world go on?

There is not much more
I can do to make this move
Faster, but I try.

In late night meetings
My mind wanders, before I sleep.
Start dreaming early.

Tasks remain undonw.
Who takes the shift while I sleep?
Can I trust you, Lord?

Morning birds chatter
Who knows what they talk about.
Later, they're quiet.

You think I don't know.
That's ok. Leave it that way.
Maybe we'll both leave.

Listen long enough.
I'll figure out what you mean.
And then I'll look smart.