Blues, haikus, and one lone cinquain

[pjthompson]

HAIKU


Summer night stars, press
of fragrance. Even flowers
can seem eternal.


         My hands remember
what mind does not: just so my
         father planted beans.


A hemorrhaged sky
while below, black silhouettes:
people-ghost puppets.


   Strange: I at once can
be working at my desk, yet
      in my garden, too.


The clatter of wind
in leaves: ticking moments of
the world rushing by


   Blow soft and warmer,
wind: do not be so harsh to
 my autumn bean sprouts.


These seeds I scatter
in a row, already I
see the withered stalks.

CINQUAIN


In gray
silence they fall,
ashes on the wet earth
stuck in a shiny black sheen to
the leaves

Comments

[asakiyume.livejournal.com]

Love the one that begins My hands remember ... also the image (scent?) press/of fragrance

[pjthompson]

Thank you.