Tag Archives: #Sunday

A quiet Sunday morning walk

A quiet Sunday morning walk,

with just the sound of flittering birds,

as the dogs and I traverse the country lanes.

Further on, the cry of new-born lambs

from a field, a distance away,

that is dotted with many off-white clouds of fleece.

Other fields have grazing cows,

quieter in their ruminations,

while yet others are carpeted with growing crops of an unknown type.

Two horses freely digest their findings,

conversing sparingly with their neighbours, another herd of grazing cows.

I tip my hat to the morning,

and offer thanks

Thursday Afternoon

With five syllables

and only two longer words:

Thursday Afternoon.

.

Monday and Tuesday,

Friday, Sunday, and today,

also fit the form.

.

But not Wed-nes-day,

and defo not Saturday,

or yesterday day.

Sunday – acrostic?!

beeS

bUzz

eNjoying

lavenDer

And

whYnot.

Sunday After Noon Haiku

Written after noon,

and. complete before midnight,

these words must suffice.

.

But, if they do not,

then please write in and complain –

your words ‘do’ matter.

A Sunday Haiku – short and sweet

Yet another day,

and this one is called Sunday –

it has its moments.

Rainy Day Sunday Haikus

“Can you hear the rain?

It’s falling like share prices

after a buy-out!”

.

“Sorry, it’s like what?”

..

“It is like the aftermath

of a takeover.”

.

“Or it’s just rainfall”

.

“You could say that it’s just that;

but I tend not to.”

.

“I can see you don’t –

which makes these Haiku boring;

not funny at all.”

.

“Well, they might not be

quite to everyone’s taste,

but I like them… lots!”

..

“They do go on… lots!

Perhaps you should now desist..”

.

“Stop!”

.

“Yes, please.”

.

“Okay.”

Sunday Haiku

“Is it Sunday? Yes?

How? Where has the weekend gone?

Is it Monday, yet?”

Sunday, not a poetry day?

I tried to write a poem,

something, anything;

but, nothing could I write;

so, I went for a walk instead,

to consider the nothingness

in my head.

The Bells of St. Lalluwy (2020) – and a look back at ‘The Bells of St. Lalluwy (2019).

Sunday morning,

10:30 a.m.

and I can hear the bells,

thr bells of St. Lalluwy,

as their sound chimes

across the fields

that lay between us.

Unseen church,

I hear your call,

“Come to pray,

come one come all;

or just listen to my pealing sound

and pray at home;

for, there, I am also to be found.

–//–

‘The Bells of St. Lalluwy (2019)’

I can hear the bells of Menheniot

ringing out for prayer;

across the fields I hear the knells,

and, soon, I won’t be there.

I can hear the bells of Menheni

a-ringing in my ears;

they call the flock from off the land

to seek comfort for their fears.

I can hear the bells of Menhen

appealing all to come;

the faithful and the sinning soul,

the sentient and numb.

I can hear the bells of Men

though softer than before,

until at last,

the peals have passed,

and I hear the bells no more.

Sunday Haiku

A Sunday Haiku

is only for a Sunday

and not for Christmas.

If that makes some sense

go to the foot of your stairs

and whistle the wind.