yet more haikai

Caylus, France


Any time of year
full moon is like a disc of
pitted human skin.

Fluttering fly-past.
That old raku bowl is a
pleasure to drink from.

raku = enjoyment, fun, entertainment, comfort…

Small smile in the sky:
the cosmos is amused by
the planet of pain.

From a far cuckoo
comes a disyllabic

Watching my dog shit
I learn that content is more
essential than form.

Stormy winter night;
in between the isobars
last breaths of the old.

A winter morning:
the soap is crenellated
by the teeth of rats.

Snowflakes dancing down
on the men who are digging
another mass grave.

The summer dahlias…
The autumn chrysanthemums…
The world full of bombs.

Disliking people
I enjoy the cheerful caw-
cawing of the rooks.

Puma in the zoo-
bleak world of her cage – and Spring
is worse frustration…

Feeding my sadness-
there is no other meaning
to my existence.

Sixty-two years old!
Shall I now start going out
to dance with the moon ?

My rural dwelling:
anywhere I choose to piss
resplendent with plants.

A piss before bed
looking up at the night’s bright
navel in the sky.

Every bedtime
I look forward to dying
even with my dog.

A snakeskin dangling
in a cobwebby window –
another poem.

I am reminded of dying
red camellia flowers.

Relentless blue skies:
the smug sameness of
hundreds of haikai.

My mother: her grave
and the neglected churchyard
sprayed with Paraquat.

Fantastic offer –
Western Values:
two for the price of one.

making love is not an act
– but an animal.

It is night beyond.
The fat, yellow-bellied moth
batters the window.

Sa vieille maison;
le loup-garou derrière
arrosant une Pensée.

 Zen Pages


Floods in October.
I don’t ever want to read
another haiku.


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