Haiku

#3
Fingers reach towards ceiling like thin beacons, palms outstretched, fake smile. This haiku is one of the few surviving ones I wrote when I first started to write poetry. (The others got lost on floppy disks and notebooks my mum threw out.) I used to give them numbers as titles, this was the third I've ever written. I don't really remember why.
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Another Gift
I get overwhelmed by what You so freely give... The beauty of You.
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Where the Big Apple touches light
Broadway exhales before the crowd, soft neon trembles down the block. A cab turns slow at Houston Street, its tires hush instead of talk.
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Tuesday and Wednesday
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Saturdays and Sundays
Satisfaction of a good week's work attractions of fun and whimsy together so that we understand what the weekend really is about
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POEM - Whispers Of A Growing Soul
Not thunderclaps, nor trumpet's blare, But subtle shifts upon the air – A murmur felt, not truly heard, The nascent stirring of a word
By Jacky Kapadiaabout a year ago in Poets
“Where Light Finds the Surface”
Beneath a shrine of cedar hush, spring’s first breath skirts the stillness— a hush so deep even sparrows bow to it. A single petal,
By Takashi Nagayaabout a year ago in Poets
Soldier: 76
The best of the best America, just his guest He's not like the rest
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Mowing grass
Going back and forth making sure that the lines straight for neatness counts plenty. ________ mowing in a forward and sometimes in a backward fashion
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So, what is Fridays all about?
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By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Poets
The Bagpipes Play A Sad Tune
The Bagpipes Play A Sad Tune The bagpipes play a sad sad tune it cuts the air at break of noon a voice of hills, of fields long bare
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Mountains of Middle Earth
Erebor: A lonely mountain Wind roaring hot through the pines Dragon fire burns // Caradhras: Snow hurled over stone Jagged cliffs hold no welcome
By M. A. Mehan about a year ago in Poets