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.
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.
Yet another day,
and this one is called Sunday –
it has its moments.
“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.”
“Is it Sunday? Yes?
How? Where has the weekend gone?
Is it Monday, yet?”
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.
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.
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.
Sunday calls for a…
Haiku, or a dearth of them –
how do I decide?
— // —
Please comment on this
If you want some more Haiku;
be silent, if less.
There are many things that you can do
on a Sunday Morning
that begin with the letter J.
Joust, jump, jaywalk,
launch Javelins skywards
towards the Jorvik centre in York;
jog, jellify, jig,
or just joyously
jive.
It’s great to be jalive.
How can I rejoice,
when I have never even joiced?
Did I have a choice
that I missed
and never made?
Did I fail
to make the grade?
And, if not mine,
at whose door can the fault be laid?
How can I rejoice,
when I’ve never even joiced?