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.
By the Book (sic)
Bardly Writ
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Tag Archives: #Sunday
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.
Sunday calls for a…
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.
J On a Sunday Morning
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.
Juice (on a Sunday?)
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?
Graeme Sandford 