Late Night Haiku XL
CXII. Lightning flashes about
The stormy mid-March night sky,
A tempest held back.
CXIII. I have known the storm,
And heard thunder now restrained,
Mighty hammers stilled.
CXIV. Though rain has past us,
Violent clouds address the sky,
Quarrel with the wind.
Late Night Haiku XXXIX
CIX. The rain falls softly,
Unspoken sorrow waters
The coming year's plants.
CX. Rain in January
Paints a picture of autumn,
Not winter, nor spring.
CXI. The bleak midwinter
Melts the dried tubers which lack
Rosetti's snow sheet.
Late Night Haiku XXXVIII
CVI. For a MacLeish poem
Concerning grief history:
Ah, the maple leaf!
CVII. The still empty box,
The note stored in the drawer,
The roaring silence.
CVIII. For the leaf fallen,
Sits still upon the porch step —
The kind bench, empty.
Late Night Haiku XXXVI
C. The cat sleeps soundly.
My lap is his bed tonight.
My legs sleep under.
CI. Tomorrow's journey,
Takes me down old, well known roads,
For unknown stops.
CII. The crickets chirp now,
A last song before frost gives
A cold curtain call.
Late Night Haiku XXXV
XCVII. How I wish time might
Flow back that too soon spent time
Could relive the day.
XCVIII. Softly, I watch it,
Soft focus, unfolding, yet
Still left too folded.
XCVIX. Indian summer —
The weary flowers' last dance
Before frost's sharp blade.
Late Night Haiku XXXIV
XCVI. Sometimes the silence
Is less fearful than the sound.
Yet it is not kept.
XCVII. The end of a thing —
Unexpected expected —
Reassesses all.
XCVIII. What of different
Views of the same time and place?
Oh, that they would match!
Late Night Haiku XXXIII
XCIII. Funny how things can
Happen when you least expect.
Listen as they occur.
XCIV. The rain flows about,
Washing away dry old thoughts,
Inviting new paths.
XCV. Time now past by us,
Invites us to see present.
Let's go forth, forward.
Late Night Haiku XXXII
XC. Soft wind of mem'ry
Blows by, though the other may
Forget what remains.
XCI. Ah! For the happy
Twist of plot to be placed by
The playwright's kind hand.
XCII. But to hope for what
Is but memory, not twist…
Such hope is tragic.
Late Night Haiku XXXI
LXXXVII. Time is dripping slow,
Stalactite of memory,
Not there, but past then.
LXXXVIII. Memories of joy
Build upon the memories
Of sorrows now past.
LXXXIX. The past is the block,
Which with desire mortared,
Builds story and song.
