From town to town the old cow lows,
Foghorns mooing across the miles;
Unseen cattle calling their herd.
Thick fog wreaths shoreline and sea
Turning mundane matters into mystical,
Hiding dull drabness with veils of white
The mist burns off by mid afternoon
And the sun chases clouds away.
Now that the day is come clear,
Where do the fog-cows graze?
The other day I had time to kill while waiting for students and having written my very first haiku ever(posted over at cafe crem) I sat on a bench in the town centre and wrote a few more…
Sunshine, no showers
Sandals, trainers, flip-flops
High heels or flat sole?
Sun on chilled skin
Breeze tangles my wild hair
I wait in street
Sore feet, blistered toes
Too tight trainers, my bad!
Putting feet up soon
Present for my mum
New sketchbook for me, yippee!
Shopping now over with
I sit writing stuff
Killing time, I wait to live
When will life begin?
White clouds, blue sky too
Sheep on azure field grazing
Watch out all below!
Spring is a lamb shorn far too soon,
Ready too early for the warmer days.
We wrap our tender plants in fleece,
Encase our bodies in woollen layers
Swathed in scarves, snug in gloves
We stand against the blast of wind.
Spring is a lad blowing hot and then cold,
An immature suitor unsure of his charms:
Today the strong and silent type,
Macho and frosty as a December night.
Tomorrow he’s the Latin lover,
All passion and heat and sunlit smiles.
Spring is a puzzle that challenges each year,
Demanding that we solve it this time.
We dress for the worst, hope for the best,
And just when we think we have it sussed,
It changes the rules and snows in May.