The origins of the haiku (pronounced "high-coo" with equal emphasis on each syllable) go back to the 12th century in Japan, where poets, often in groups, would improvise verses which would eventually create very long poems. It wasn’t till the 16th century that ordinary Japanese folk became interested in the arts, and it was Matsuo Basho who is credited with developing and making popular the little poems which later became known as haiku.

Thursday, March 26, 2015

No.12

on the old farm track
rainwater in the wheel ruts
frozen over

outside the cafe
a dog's lead and collar
chained to a lamppost

at the cottage door
a canary in a cage
sparrows on the ground

a thousand raindrops
sparkling on the fir trees
first day of spring

eclipse of the sun
for a few minutes darkness
closes the daisies

nothing on TV
opening the old biscuit tin
for needle and thread

a fierce gust of wind
the tea garden's umbrellas
become airborne

facing the March winds
the summer seats
nobody sits on

my coffee untouched
I lose track of time
preparing haiku

smoking cigarettes
+
deciding to stop
+
hanging wallpaper
+
smoking cigarettes

-o0o-

THAT BRINGS THIS SERIES TO AN END

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Thursday, March 19, 2015

No.11

in shallow water
the tiny flounder is hidden
on the sandy bed

after the rainstorm
the midnight sky clears - a moon
in every puddle

rain from the wind chimes
dripping on the oil drum
adds to the music

there's no escaping
The Yellow Rose of Texas
from the ice cream van

first day of spring
the sound of children's laughter
floats down the stream 

on the carousel
a ventriloquist's dummy
among the cases

at the check-out
without looking up
have a nice day - take care

spring is here at last
I get a new jacket
so does the scarecrow

from the promenade
we watch a poor man
fight with a deckchair

where the old car had parked
all the colours of the rainbow
on the oil spills

-o0o-

NEXT POST HERE THURSDAY

-o0o-

After a break of three months
NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL ART
returns on Sunday 22nd March

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Thursday, March 12, 2015

No.10

another cold day
tapping the barometer
still no sign of spring

visiting grandma
the little boy plays for hours
with coloured buttons

summer evening
on the golf course - long shadows
follow us home

in the surgery
surrounded by wall pictures -
internal organs

through the distant trees
the flash of leaping antlers
and a rifle shot

gently caressing
she moulds the wet clay
poetry in motion

in the fading light
the owl just a dark shadow
against the dovecote


excited squawking
from the budgie - a big cat
on the window ledge

the old gentleman
 enters the elevator
and takes off his hat

one tiny dewdrop
the sun, clouds, the entire sky
reflected therein
[inspired by a saying of the 13th century Zen master DOGEN]

-o0o-

ANYONE FOR HAIKU
will now be updated every Thursday

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Thursday, March 5, 2015

No.9

still in the silence
the shadow of the wind chimes
on the garden wall

smell of burning wood
wisps of smoke above the trees
the sound of an axe

the farmer's gun fills the sky
with a flock of birds
and my dog with fear

into the cavern
following the torchlight beam
a sudden chill

placing her coin
in the slot, the little girl
pats the stone dog

from the summit
the village lost in mist
just the church spire

held up by roadworks
noticing for the first time
the colour of corn

before the roller coaster
has started
the girls are screaming

evening on the loch
my hand joins its reflection
in the cool water

yesterday
admiring a butterfly
today
killing a moth

-o0o-

ANYONE FOR HAIKU WILL NOW BE UPDATED EVERY THURSDAY

The new blog
TAKING THE ONE LESS TRAVELLED BY
begins on Saturday

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Monday, March 2, 2015

No.8

after the downpour
the pavement wriggles
with a host of tiny worms

summer afternoon
the weather cock's shadow
on the hen house roof

low tide - noisy gulls
forage in the rock pools
for stranded fish

her Anais Anais
announces her arrival
before she appears


early morning breeze
a beach ball bounces along
the deserted shore

both thumbs in plaster
(the job would be no problem)
bent nails everywhere

peep through the curtains 
rain again 
the day can start without me


in the Old Folk’s Home
the lady who never speaks
joins in “Danny Boy”
silent pond
suddenly alive
sound of frogs

a gentle wake-up
the blackbird's insistent song
creeps into my sleep

-o0o-

NEXT POST THURSDAY

Now online
WOMEN ON CANVAS
the new art blog began yesterday
http://womenoncanvas.blogspot.com

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-