Haiku #680

680.

Low winter-soon Sun.
There’s enough room in this world,
Yes, for everyone.

Blossoming

Never now exhausted,
Love has blossomed forward,
Through an extreme of seasons,
One by one went by.

Spring’s within the Autumn,
Falls are once more roaring,
And those blossom-oils are pouring
Under pastel-orange skies.

Let’s go for a hairpin drive
To where your love resides,
Somewhere secluded in time
Beyond the woodland outside.

I’d rather a life in near-solitude!
For Nature is all-celebrating
While the cities are just enervating,
But only, love, in solitude with you.

Una Lucciola

Hai visto quello che ho visto
Qui tra i salici;
Una lucciola in oro e verde,
Pesciolini lontani nell’aria.

Le sue vene sono piene di tempo
La sua pelle è gentilezza dorata;
Ipnotizzato dall’innocenza,
Il miracolo di mia altezza.

Se vedi la tua lucciola
Attraverso gli alberi favolosi,
Lascia che la perdita si riposi un po’,
I suoi miracoli sono nell’aria.

Yttrium

You are my alpha thought and omega,
Calcium for my teeth and protein
Ever-present; you give me a range
Of autumnal rainbows crystallised
In feathery-eyes of a peacock,
(You were always so kind
To ignore my bad luck),
And then elemental energies
The Goddess of Love strove and mined
From underneath strands of yttrium
And promethium, from which the wish
To brush your hair was born,
And also the surf and shores of my poetry,
A perspective on my entreaties,
Crystalline quicksilver enchantress.

It is difficult for me to always talk so fondly;
My shell is broken, its browns and blacks
Like small tectonic jigsaw pieces scattered
As if brittle tessaras of scintillas on the lips
Of the bottom of the ocean.

For I am merely a mollusc in the mouths
Of old aggressive seagulls.
Raucous zealots! Pamphleteers
On roaring rolling coastal skies,
I am left up high with your touch
For just one moment,
Until dropped, my fleshy self gone,
A shell to join my dead brothers
For however long it takes
The fragile to be glued together,
Pierced with a pin, and put away
In the obscure drawers of a curator
Who was the last museum owner
To catalogue the vast extent
Of myths and wishes and sins.

Edenless / Endless

A lioncub played with hyenas
And complained
When they laughed
At his pride;
And a cuttlefish caught in nets
When striving to retreat
In longcoat-lines
Is poor man’s salmon disguise;
And a sparrowhawk’s
Airborne shortening,
Quickening breath
In the heat of the heart
Of a wasp nest demise;
These creatures died
With a startled sharpness
Keener than their births
And the girdle
Of this whole earth
In their eyes,
All are victims more to mankind
And man’s disease of language,
And man’s demeaning mind,
To subjugate, and classify;
Nature is nature’s intent alone,
There’s no greater or lesser divide
Than between you and I,
So I won’t be so shocked
When I rest my sore head
On an Edenless bed,
Aspic words preserve the lie.