Haiku 365: September

#246: 9/8/2015
“Penny Lane” flows from
my dark, reticent speakers,
calling on old homes.

#247: 9/8/2015
Just like poetry,
wildfire surges and consumes,
guided by stern tools.

#248: 9/8/2015
Like castles of old,
today’s fortresses stand fast,
founded on pixels.

#249: 9/8/2015
Flowers are patient.
No meetings, nowhere to go,
sun-touched and sky-soft.

#250: 9/8/2015
Each new beginning
carries a whiff of failure.
Therein lies the test.

#251: 9/8/2015
Pair of sandwiches
await, mute, oblivious,
their executions.

#252: 9/8/2015
Betsy and Brian
take afternoon walks, explore,
whisper together.

#253: 9/8/2015
Little plastic Thor
stands in my kitchen, god of
thunder and pastries.

#254: 9/9/2015
Heavy ambition
means light sleep, furtive hours
snatched like fireflies.

#255: 9/11/2015
Morning by morning
Nature marks her round canvas –
blind, but full of light.

#256: 9/11/2015
Deep in the basement
what creeps on unfinished walls?
Here there be dragons.

#257: 9/13/2015
Washer and coffee,
heater and Betsy and I
stir, yawn, and arise.

#258: 9/13/2015
What fathomless hand
has scoured our firmament? Where
did it take our clouds?

#259: 9/14/2015
Day of laziness.
Mind creeps, craving and fearing
useful energy.

#260: 9/15/2015
One more day adjourns.
I draw up tomorrow’s plans,
hoping I can build.

#261: 9/16/2015
Rough air, placid earth,
pearls of dew, flames of the sun.
Four-element day.

#262: 9/17/2015
Today’s proud giants
loom on streets, rectangle heads,
selling svelte perfume.

#263: 9/18/2015
Present will be past,
future will be past. This, our
deepest mystery.

#264: 9/19/2015
This close to midnight,
scent of tomorrow seeps in,
warning, beckoning.

#265: 9/21/2015
Fresh week, fresh journeys,
morning by morning, grasping
unsullied secrets.

#266: 9/21/2015
Ah! Thumbprint cookies,
each stamped with Betsy’s sigil,
filled with love and jam.

#267: 9/22/2015
Stories spin like plates,
flouting doubt and gravity,
magically mundane.

#268: 9/23/2015
Early morning rise,
grasping dawn cold-fingered till
it evaporates.

#269: 9/24/2015
Whose songs are these? Whose
hymns chant at midnight, whose notes
whisper midday myths?

#270: 9/25/2015
“Draft”: a word that means
text to edit, or cold ale.
Hmm … coincidence?

#271: 10/1/2015
Who can synthesize
laziness and energy,
can invent all things.

#272: 10/1/2015
In the barefoot world,
none dream of cotton cocoons.
Socks are miracles.

#273: 10/1/2015
When am I grown up?
Will I get a plaque when I’m
not the child I was?

#274: 10/1/2015
All you need is love:
two of us wearing raincoats
when I’m sixty-four.

#275: 10/1/2015
Listen! Rushing ants
scout the earth’s secret places,
scribbling obscure maps.