Haiku #667

667.

All autumnal thoughts
Returning to your beauty.
All next, unscripted.

The Meaning Of Fish

The meaning of fish
In my angling firth,
My minnow mind slipped
And did not deserve.

Alluvial sediment,
Disinterment deferred,
Shifting sands seen
On a dark shiftless earth.

Croaker-bait,
Poison hook;
Reeled from a river,
My gauche gawping look.

The meaning of fish
Too late I would learn,
For if not for fish, or
Water-weeds and worms,

I would not exist
From a loch to the burn,
And my scaly-grey heart
Would no longer yearn.

Talus

I’m sweeping up your worries
They’re going in to bags,
I walked a week to market
And slept beneath the crags.

I heard that there are traders
Who buy and sell our fears;
They hide behind disguises,
They whisper in our ears.

I’m sweeping up your sorrows,
Flung from a coastal talus;
The market’s shutting down,
Love is now the ballast.

The Runner

When it ended, the money,
You would go running
For as long as you could,
Up on the cliff tops
And through the deep woods.
For as far as we try, yes try
To remember feelings like dreams,
Where events taking place
Exclude us from scenes.

Did you ever stop running?
Just as I can’t stop cleaning.
We were so near, you and I,
To the life we were dreaming.
I found your sports cap,
They brought yellow tape;
Now I can’t sing of oceans
And I can’t forget lately
How fog drapes our map.

Ancorato

Il mare mi ha interiorizzato;
Proprio come pensavo di essere stato rimosso
Ho ingoiato la sua ubiquità blu.

Questa tristezza incorruttibile,
Anti-materia, causa di elettricità statica,
La mia antitesi innaturale completata,

Lanciò la sua spessa corda dal ponte
E si è ancorata a me.
Mi trovavo su una banchina grigia

E anche se le persone passavano
Tutto quello che potevano vedere era ancora un uomo di riserva,
Prima che si rivolgessero ai caffè.

Tutti i molluschi sono silenziosi
Quando uno scrittore non può guardare i suoi strumenti
Non può guardare alla sua vita abbondante.