In the Shadow of Covid 19

My monthly post is inevitably topical.

Falling Apart

In the garden

daffodils wilt; blossom falls.

Some may see each day

endlessly repeating

like a wind-up toy, while

what may seem hum drum,

the hum of the fridge,

a ticking clock,

the science fiction silence outside,

is the world renewing itself

in each dying moment. . .

And we too, while honouring

the bitter taste

of each remembered mistake

can fall apart again and again.

*

Ageing

Seventy three years

cultivating karma

yet there is no self in each breath

*

Surprised By Joy

Sitting alone

sudden birdsong

extinguishes dreams.

haiku and tanka

stock-photo-buff-tailed-bumblebee-on-flower-215423464

on the paving slab
a slug’s silvery map
sets off an apricot stone

the Arctic terns have flown south –
late August, alone in a bird hide

sitting in the sun –
a tiny insect crawls across
my poem

godwits drilling the still pond –
ripples in the universe

watching bumble bees spiral into petals
I rub lavender leaves between fingers
releasing scent
but it doesn’t ease
my throbbing head