the season word should
give a sense of where and when
the shit hits the fan
Today is the first day of autumn, so here's a "seasonal" haiku.
I found some haiku scribbles, probably from about this time last year, and finished this one off. It's an attempt at meta-haiku — a haiku about haiku, if you'll pardon the pretension.
Fancy dress party.
A young Marilyn Monroe
Spills wine on her dress.
We've all been there, haven't we?
I composed this one the other evening, while dozing off to sleep. When the idea came to me I leapt out of bed to write it down, so I wouldn't lose it. It only needed a little tweak in the morning.
Javelin thrower
Releases the perfect throw.
The world holds it's breath.
Not sure about this one. I like the image, but the wording might be a clumsy. I was trying to avoid using throw and thrower, but gave up. It'll do as it is.
Festival downpour
Up to our knees in the mud
The show must go on
I must stop using "festival" as a season word in haiku. It's starting to feel like a cop-out.
Festival chill-out.
A worn-out juggler drinks tea
In a crazy chair.
For Orde, outside the Ladybird at Glastonbury Festival 2009.
Festival rumour
That no one wants to believe...
Is he really dead?
Glastonbury Festival 2009.
Settling in the bath
Warm waters rising about
The telephone rings
I found this old haiku while sifting through some old papers. It was probably written around 2000, while I lived in my previous home. I remember composing it in my old rocking chair (not in the bath, which would have been cooler), but don't recall writing it down.
By the way, I never get out of the bath to answer the phone. All too often it rings off and I'm left dripping over my living room rug. It's just not worth it.
Perhaps if I had a waterproof bath phone. But will it float?
Rainy autumn night.
The busy crossroads outside.
I'm glad I met you.
