2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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<title>Zk | Haiku</title>
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<h1>Zk | Haiku</h1>
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</header>
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<article class="content">
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2020-04-24 08:30:08 +00:00
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<p><span class="tag">writing</span> <span class="tag">poetry</span></p>
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<p><q class="comment">In <em>Eigengrau</em></q></p>
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2020-06-24 07:15:07 +00:00
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<div class="verse">Arctic fox’s den
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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adorned with flowers and snow
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2020-04-24 07:25:07 +00:00
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garden in winter</div>
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<hr />
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2020-04-24 07:30:40 +00:00
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<p><q class="comment">In <em>Eigengrau</em></q></p>
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2020-04-24 07:25:07 +00:00
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<div class="verse">A measure of grain
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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and a measure of water —
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2020-06-24 07:15:07 +00:00
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spring’s own time and heat
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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Air carries the scent
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of myriads of lives spent
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2020-06-24 07:15:07 +00:00
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on summer’s warm breath
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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Crumb and density,
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warmth buried beneath crisp crust —
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2020-06-24 07:15:07 +00:00
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autumn’s crackling leaves.
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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Loves and loaves and loaves
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baked for comfort in the cold —
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winter calls for stores.</div>
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<hr />
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2020-04-24 07:30:40 +00:00
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<p><q class="comment">In <em>Eigengrau</em></q></p>
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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<div class="verse">Leaves fall, grass withers,
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and I step back to witness
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2020-06-24 07:15:07 +00:00
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winter’s frozen form.
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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2020-06-24 07:15:07 +00:00
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Half an hour’s silence,
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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body relaxing slowly,
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letting springtime in.
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A season to stretch,
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then one to learn everything —
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2020-06-24 07:15:07 +00:00
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summer’s exploring.
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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What will autumn bring?
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Maturity? Strength? Wisdom?
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Dry heat and cool nights?</div>
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<hr />
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2020-04-24 07:30:40 +00:00
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<p><q class="comment">In <em>Eigengrau</em></q></p>
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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<div class="verse">Seven flies circle,
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Trimmers chatter down the block:
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The hum of summer.
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I listen, silent, waiting,
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Breathing in sun and out shade.
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Fig leaves like fingers
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paw feebly through still hot air
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and come up with naught.
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Too early for fruit to droop,
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we must wait past midsummer.
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And I walk until
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all I can hear is the wind
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among the fir trees.
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Summer breezes bear away
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all the choices of years past.
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Drink deep of death-thoughts
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as the day dies with a yawn —
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the year starts to fade.</div>
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</article>
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<footer>
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2020-06-24 07:15:07 +00:00
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<p>Page generated on 2020-06-24</p>
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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2020-06-24 07:15:07 +00:00
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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