Flying postmen

Air-mail service
In a wing..

Avian compass:
Homing the telegraphic

Airborne courier in 
A feathered leg.

#world war

Well, what if ?

What if...
The angel of death came calling on me
On one of his life taking sprèe
I would teach him the art of procrastination
And say my soul needed beautification
Heaven would have to wait
I would need to cleanse my heart
Before I would from this world depart
So that heaven could open its gate
Not treat me like a surrogate.
I would not like to die on a hospital bed
With tubes and needles stuck all over
Down my throat, through a pipe being fed 
Visitors putting on a sympathetic face
Turning with pity,and a look of grimace
It would be good to die surrounded by
Books, poetry, hope my poems last that long
And playing in my ear, a favourite song..


starry constellations
carrying thunder, lightening
renaissance of season, time
Hippocrene's blue
Mount Helicon's fountainhead
quenching the muses' thirst;
Nemesis of Narcissus.

October haibun

I embrace October's breathless thrill. Symphonies merge birds' tuneful
breaths, vermilion heartbeats kindle melodies of effervescent blossoms
lilting glimmering reveries.
                           cosmic collision;
                           dulcet energies
                           destiny's refrain

Canticles tumble from hearts pulsing, wrapping yearnings unbroken by
life's strategy. Crystal stars rhythm interludes daydreaming into 
night skies spangled with poetry.
                           pale of moonlight slips
                           a swirl of constellations
                           twilight's liquid dark

Fireflies trail the heath flaming a gentle zephyr that touches my 
cheek with grace. Crickets echo ebon air hemming mellow of sleep as
nocturnal creatures rouse.

                           dawn lures the sun out;
                           blue sanctuary 
                           of a rising star.


Faucets in the sky

dark rain clouds now fill the blue sky
hiding the sullen sun behind
even as he comes out to try
to melt the ice buttress outlined.

the sky is just waiting to burst,
even as thunder rolls, lightening strikes
quenching thirst as nature is nursed
drenching well enough to suffice.

faucets have opened in the sky
misting the air with crystal drops
shimmering like icicle pops
splattering, moistening soil still dry.

dribbling into gurgling brooklets
splashing merrily on rocks and ponds
tracing small, tiny rivulets
bridges, archways betwixt dewy fronds.

i feel the soothing pureness pour
over my skin, into my soul
rejuvenating to restore
freshness of spirit as a whole.