leaves (50)

his fingers roll pebbles on the piano keys, awake the wind, tame the storm, while outdoor, silently, the pregnant sea drops a round moon

~ ~ ~

leaves (49)

at the hour of first sleep, collision between a firefly and a star

~ ~ ~

a small stone

the sea... sending its waves to follow the same traces, again and again. What does it search for? What has it lost?

~ ~ ~

a small stone

searching for mushrooms- a big umbrella with a little girl

~ ~ ~

5ht small stone

summer night- wind bells clink in my dream

~ ~ ~

4th small stone

orchid's bud- touching as if not touching

~ ~ ~

July's third small stone

still wanting to bloom- broken branches of hortensia

~ ~ ~

July's second small stone

rainy evening- on the balcony, hand in hand, tail in tail...

~ ~ ~

July's first small stone

July rain- the linden scent returns to earth

~ ~ ~

leaves (48)

never alone- these birds, these trees

~ ~ ~

leaves (47)

bright June morning- the elder tree with bride veil

~ ~ ~

leaves (46)

weeds- what a wrong word... arisen from our frustrations. This piece of land is not my garden, is theirs. They are simply plants that thwart my plans. I play God and I don't like it.

~ ~ ~

leaves (45)

spring to summer- every day another garden

~ ~ ~

leaves (44)

warmth of May
my garden- my church

~ ~ ~

leaves (43)

cold morning- the broom stares at what is left of cherry petals

leaves (42)

sunday bazar- the wind's bronze voices, wood voices

leaves (41)

I take a path untouched since Autumn, deep into the mountains, where Winter hides like a fugitive. I find its traces- a lost handkercheif, some rags of its sheets and then its mantle, unfolded on the road. It must be somewhere near here!

strange breathing-
the silence pierced
by a birdcall

~ ~ ~

leaves (40)

a wingless bird, this girl in a coma, a wave that comes and goes

~ ~ ~

leaves (39)

In a world without birds, would man have ever sung?

~ ~ ~

leaves (38)

soprano's high notes- a noise that puts birds to flight

~ ~ ~

leaves (37)

magnolia buds
I wait for them
to open
as I would wait for
an unborn baby's first move

~ ~ ~

leaves (36)

still searching for miracles? my garden in Spring

~ ~ ~

leaves (35)

grave or nest of life- this sapling makes the difference

~ ~ ~

leaves (34)

It's almost morning and the sky seems a discoloured umbrella. My ugly, dirty, small town opens its many eyes, blinks and calmly smokes its first cigar.

leaves (33)

my cats chat in tail language and expect me to join in

~ ~ ~

leaves (32)

It rains- the kind of rain that empties the streets. Where to turn? Where to run?

~ ~ ~

leaves (31)

threads of clouds knot and unknot the horizon line

~ ~ ~

leaves (30)

a few green leaves, a few grass blades- I can almost count them

~ ~ ~

stone wall

stone wall -
the spring wind fills
all the cracks

~ ~ ~

[published in "Tinywords", 17 March 2008]
Published on the Haiku Society of America "haiku Wall" exhibited in the historic Liberty Theatre
Gallery at the Quarterly National HSA Meeting in Bend, Oregon on June 3-5, 2011 as part of the
downtown Bend Oregon First Friday June Art Walk

leaves (29)

waiting room- cell phones should turn into birds and take flight

~ ~ ~

leaves (28)

silent
imbued with sunlight
my walk
becomes dance
then flight
~ ~ ~

leaves (27)

playing dice- sun, cold wind, warm wind, snowflakes, cold wind, sun again...




~ ~ ~

leaves (26)

no crocuses- their corms must have died in sleep
~ ~ ~

leaves (25)

this
incoming
Spring
a wing
not strong enough
to fly

~ ~ ~

leaves (24)

I wish this black feather were lost by a hurry, happy singing bird, but I find, a few steps further, another feather, then another, then more and more

I don't think
anyone's going to miss me-
last snow

~ ~ ~

leaves (23)

thoughts that stubbornly want to be words
~ ~ ~

leaves (22)

today, the first crocus, white, heart-warming, and the first fly, black and annoying

~ ~ ~

leaves (21)

warm wind- the magic sound of gutters dripping

~ ~ ~

leaves (20)

icy morning- the thin sun gives us back our shadows

~ ~ ~

leaves (19)

under the snow storm, a storm of thoughts


~ ~ ~

leaves (18)

frozen in mud, my yesterday's footsteps

~ ~ ~

the first of March

unkept promise- where were my thoughts?

~ ~ ~

"The real act of discovery is not in finding new lands, but in seeing with new eyes"

Marcel Proust

(1871, Auteuil- 1922, Paris)

http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/480557/Marcel-Proust

leaves (17)

long lasting winter-
his way of feeling things
in darkness 

~ ~ ~

leaves (16)

February sunset-
beside the fresh grave
a row of sunglasses

~ ~ ~

leaves (15)

they offer
fireworks for stars-
smoggy town

~ ~ ~

leaves (14)

coming together
to change the world-
snowflakes

~ ~ ~

leaves (13)

taking a vow of silence - snowy meadow


~ ~ ~

leaves (12)

tired birds
the laundress'hands
resting in her lap

~ ~ ~

leaves (11)

I sit, shovel in hand, hesitant as in front of a white page. The times when winter meant joy seem parts of an other's life. As snow has become a chore, I should start to shovel it but no, not this time. I'll put the shovel down and I'll make a snow angel, like the little girl in the old photo.

~ ~ ~