If I can’t get to sleep at night, I sometimes try to write a haiku in my head. Sometimes I even remember it in the morning.
I know that a haiku in English can be practically any length, but I find it a challenge to try and stick to the traditional 17 syllables in 5 : 7 : 5 format.
When we walk on the beach, the sand we walk on tells stories in the form of footprints, pawprints, hoofprints, tyreprints, children’s sand castles and messages. By the next day, they’re all gone. There must be an allegory in there somewhere.
The broad morning sand
Footprints telling of our stroll
In 12 hours wiped clean
We’ve just been for a walk along the beach, and for once we could hear ourselves talk, because the waves did no more than swish calmly up the sand — sounding like the polite clapping of a large crowd rather than the noise of a pounding concert.
No thudding crashes
Today with waves well behaved
Just quiet applause
I was close to a big Ka class locomotive once, uncoupled from its train. It hissed and steamed but otherwise seemed no more animated than a kettle. And then it moved. It accelerated as if it had raised itself on its toes, and its pistons and connecting rods moved like arms.
Steam engine — solid,
heavy, black — until it moves
Then it seems to dance
© 2019 Tony Pritchard