Haiku #641

641.

Fire eternal, yes,
Criminals burn cars, flames high.
People on tv.

Ode To A Parking Lot

All our loved people,
Indelible, said clearly,
In my thirteenth sonnet,
(Did you read it?
I haven’t, I imagined you
Subtly and too kindly said…)
Each incredible, unique,
Who for whatsoever reasons
Are in parking lots
Of businesses which
In this moment are as
Unrealisable and mythical
As Pegasuses appearing
In supermarket aisles
On the left, hooves heard
Between the edamame beans
And the deeply bereft,
Or Orion’s coordinates,
Illuminated blue in new
Speedometer needle sets,
With your one head
In your two beautiful hands,
I am with you all
Each and every one
In our millions, our army
Of sadness, sorrowful troughs,
Because I too am that moment,
And I learned to overcome,
And when I overcame
I owed it for you,
As a penance, at cost;
I bleed and I bled,
My fervent words for your love.

I became through with a world
Designed by others
Into which I was buffeted
By their Shannon and
Fastnet blustering rough.

Do you remember
When things mattered,
Before they feigned
And they flattered.
I cannot remember a thing,
My life’s no more certain
Than a butterfly wing,
But in a butterfly’s wing
Is the sting in the sin
Of all that matters
And entertains.

Some drive away, hands on the wheel,
Some go on to thrive
And some to steal;
But one or two don’t, in the car
Or the woods, and I stay
With those love, the misunderstood,
And that’s why when it comes
To paychecks, a glance,
I’m not with your goodness,
For I left all that time
With the dead in a trance.

Traffic Light Soul

At a traffic light, roadworks,
The jamming pressed their
Collective thumb-horns
For those cars tailed back
From a year before I was born
In scales of a summer storm.

I did not know I’d end up here,
A tear in my eye where
Many lost worlds formed,
Places I’d seen with cathedrals
And parks and riverside scenes,
Caught like a fly in my eyelid.

Someone exited their vehicle
And tapped exasperatedly
At my window. I wound down
The production-line glass
And noticed for the first time
A kitemark for British Standards

Engraved in the corner;
These days, it’s an oxymoron.
I found myself wondering
Whether my soul had already
Dissolved, or whether a steady
Dripping away occurs through

Various stoppers and plugs,
Like prayers, like rosaries,
Dogmas, dharma, traditions.
These days in my country
The scientists have deserted,
Prophets can be purchased.

He was still shouting,
The man in the street
Using expletives.
I wound up the window
And drove away but not before
Drying my eyes, foot on the clutch

Finding first gear,
Revving the engine,
Rain matted hair, lightning beats,
I smiled for the first time
In so many years,
Running over his feet.