Modern Haiku: Do Not Bend

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The wind blows
wherever it will
I won’t bend

Copyright Francis 2021

Runaway (Poem)

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Footprints along the strand
stretching off to nowhere

A beach all my own
save for curious gulls

eyeing from Hesperides’ skies.
Kernow was never so lush

or windswept; are they bells
pealing on the breeze, like

lost Lyonesse beckoning
to this broken soul?

Maybe heartless time is melting,
melding; I run and run

into the gelid ocean, the two
once twain — now consumed

Copyright Francis Barker 2020

Haibun: ‘Washing Day’

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I hang out the washing,
impatiently pegging
to save time.
Then I sit, fritter and daydream,
watching the wind toss the duvet
of my sleepless night,
pillow cases bellow in panic attack,
before the sudden lashing rain
insists I scamper outside.

Elements changing
Thrashing meandering thoughts
Nature’s clue unsaid

Copyright Francis Barker 2020

‘Avenging Wind’ a Poem

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The wind strikes once more,
he’s tossing washing lines
and turning trees,
threatens to strip the ripe colour
which makes the season tolerable.
I wonder what’s made him so fierce:
He’s giving me glimpses of winter,
the lockdowns imposed,
when stepping outside
becomes a crime, where
the only feature will be the trash
blown starkly down our street

Copyright Francis Barker 2020

*We may have to find new ways to entertain ourselves this winter.

Poem: The Painter

beachlovers1 - Edited

Climbing the dune,
wind heavy in our faces.
We squint (or do we smile?),
our laughs and quips
diffuse in the air.

Young legs carry you
ahead to the summit,
where tufts of green cling
to an existence. Then you’re
a sudden lithe silhouette

against a racing sky.
I revel in your victory;
your gentle hand hauls me
up close to ocean eyes,
an elfin smile, teeth

pristine like breakers
on the distant, crashing
shore, that white noise
filling our ears.
To look into you

is to look as men
have done for centuries.
Unchanging heart,
you’re the pearl left
nestling in filth.

So take a look –
can anyone steal time?
An hour here or there,
we leave our footprints,
no foothold anywhere.

I am the painter of this shore –
you are the model.
Again and again,
we return to wrestle
in familiar hues;

deep alizarin crimson,
yellow ochre, phthalo blue,
making it real. Stay in this
moment, we bless and bless.
It has to be you.

copyright Leofwine Tanner 2019 and 2011