Thursday, September 22, 2011

Odour of Winter





Mouldy leaves rips the breeze,
as I submit my salute to Autumn.
I hear burnished veins curl,
they wrinkle the roadside,
crunching together
rankled.

Nights nip,
snap at wrists and ankles,
prickling pallid flesh.

I cradle the pale sun
staving off
murky days
of Winter.

hayfields

harvest noon
a faint drizzle falls on
shredded hayfields


autumn leaves

autumn leaves ride
windblown ripples
autumn force


rebirth senyru

on lines of a page
or artists canvas
rebirth

Visit to Garnish Island, Cork, Ireland in haiku






autumn leaves
surf the waves
boat to the islands



moss covered mountains
circle a silver sea
seals basking




swirling winds
pine needles spin the sky
island day



mustard gorse
yellows shale rock face
garnish island





mustard gorse
amid beads of heather
crickets croak

knee deep in heather
the scent
so sweet

martello tower
on garnish island
carved gardens




clouds scatter
pine trees ponder
an island day

on shale rock
a fly and me
buzzing

a rattling wind
through rhododendrons
trudge of gravel

slipway
waves leap the rocks
golden seaweed dangles

high winds
frill the tide
golden seaweed swirls





mist shrouds the mountains
strong scent of seaweed
blisters the bay

after a deluge
a rainbow bridges mountains
heavenly light


rhododendron wood
sunlight bounces
from wet rocks


Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Autumn Crisp Day


A September chill pierces the morning
skipping briskly through my window.
Sharp air nips past naked ankles
as Autumn nibbles into the day.

The door unbolts to a bleating breeze
slicing a deep shadow on my carpet.
A silken sky blankets a steel sea,
tarnished leaves snap the briny air.

Wasps sift September with regret
buzzing the passing scent of roses.
Sour apples sweep mellow branches
savouring a wind sweetened drizzle.

Chestnut burrs bristle spiny green
pregnant with mahogany clusters.
Crumpled leaves gust garden corners,
crunching crooked for warmth.

August Lips




Lips of August winds pucker
wafting lisping leaves.
Trembling, they stutter,
flagging the breeze
on a feral day.

Distant trees
silver with sound
quake in the swirling storm.

The cat stirs,
yawns in the tempest.
Kneading paws extend,
her nose nudges my hand
ushering a new day in.

My Sarah



My Sarah

As you prepare to leave today,
I already miss you.
How fitting
that the heavens
have opened
for another tearful
“goodbye”.

I hear you in the kitchen.
The sound of you
comforts me.
Cooking is your ritual,
writing is mine.

I will immerse myself
in words
and you
will be part of them,
for you
are part of me.

What a blessing
to see the essence of me
carry through
in you.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Seasons of time




Life
evolves
with the changing seasons.

Autumn has bitten
cutting through September,
nibbling at daylight
dousing it in darkness.

I gaze at an agitated sea
beneath a twisted sky,
the day
thick with thunder.

I am anxious

and I am once again
a little girl,
under a tree
sheltering from a storm,

terrified of being struck by lightening
of dying
alone
in the street.

Cider morning

Proud apples sweeten
on plump leafy branches,
ripening my autumn garden
with round, fleshy fruit.

A hoarse breeze sneezes
a cider crisp morning.
Innocent as Eve,
I pluck a ripe apple for you.

I trace it’s firm russet skin
moist with tender dew.
I leave it on the kitchen table
to tempt you.

12 September 2011

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Lighthouse haiku end of August













swollen fruits
tart on the tongue
august noon





wind blown
around ancient lighthouse
scarlet butterflies



sheltered from the wind
warmth of august sun
calming



sea breeze
whispers tales of shipwrecks
lighthouse in view







cliff top
through a swarm of black flies
sky






marbled cliff top
wind blown views
of corn fields







smell of dung
carries in the wind
a lone black sheep






thick veins
of swollen brambles
swallows cut the sky




red hay barn
set in harvest meadows
mountains in view



august sunshine
boats silver the sea
swallows dip and soar


heather hills
beads of purple
august noon




Haiku on 1 September on the train to Dublin




faces
flying past the train
gaze in and out





hayfields
wrapped in heather hills
september noon






rolling hayfields
wrapped in sunshine
first autumn day


hillside
of magenta heather
swallows cut the breeze






city heat
head aches to the throb
of the train









foot bridge shivers
with the throb of cars
heart in my mouth