her working melody

how is it, sir
that still you have not heard her voice
though she speaks
and
though she sings?

fear not, 
for surely one day you will hear
perhaps through a crowded room
as she sings her song for me.

how clearly and how suddenly
her words and working melody 
will come to hold their true meaning

when they are no longer sung to you.

haikuesday

people like to think

of themselves as people, see?

sociology.

* * * 

autumn night’s whispers,

carried by crisp fall wind, say

‘let’s fry some snickers.’ 

* * * 

the gift most welcome

came in no box or tied bow

but her company.

 

a box still full

‘i meant to give her these last week,’ he said quietly and to himself, sliding the lid from a white box containing a pair of small pearl earrings.

he exhaled through his nostrils, his shoulders slumping in time with the exhalation.

he held the now open box, top forgotten on the coffee table over which he stood, shins close to one corner, eyes washing over the pearls, as if expecting them to move, speak, advise.

they caught well the light of the room,

but the earrings did not speak.

he leaned over, left hand fumbling for the box top, eyes still on the pair of pearls.

stubborn, they were,

and silent they remained

though perfect, he hoped, for her.

‘this week,’ he said still quietly, placing the lid over the pearls.

he inhaled  through his nostrils, his shoulders rising  in time with the inhalation.

‘this week,’ he said more firmly.

haikuesday

never do i feel

more naked – left all alone

than when i shower.

* * * 

a bucket once full

has suddenly, if i’m right,

turned into a chore.

* * * 

‘well, what is it, then?’

‘. . . her eyes – yes! – the way they move; 

not restless but alive.’

hailong has it been since we haiku-ed?

as they say somewhere,

‘well, you see, what happened was,’

then mumble mumble.

* * * 

there are days when i 

most humbly and honestly

prefer tap water.

* * * 

‘so, are you ok?’

she asked her hand over his.

‘now, yes’ he replied.