melt

white terry robe of snow
slowly sliding south
down the shingles

the eave’s nurtured icicles
drip
drip
dripping

white terry robe haunting the kitchen
slowly sliding south
down morning’s conjecture

the counter percolating coffee
drip
drip
dripping

You walk in
Blink
I melt

Good morning, you

Blink

2 haiku/shock

Winter oxygen
Invisible narcotic
Unconfined ether

 

Ultraviolet
Wavelengths tease winter’s self-rule
Eight degree sunshine

Shock

Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge #184

Pressed four leaf clover
Summer luck in a field guide
Touches the future

 

French press, French kiss, French
toast   Coffee, kisses and cream
Touching our morning

Alpha-bet

A fraternity of letters
binge drinking by night
attending classes by day
carving the campus with syllables

Carve

Ride The Wrong Train

“Be aware of your surroundings.”
“Wait, slow down.  We need to know where we are going.”
“Let me look at the map.”

There is a push for every pull.
There is a strangle hold for every soft touch on the shoulder.
There is longing with every release.

Ride the wrong train.
Walk down a different street.
Rush, the days can be short.

Dec. 23.  I throw on yesterday’s clothes and rush out the door.  I am not even sure where I am rushing, because I am not even sure where the path begins to the place I am rushing to, but I have purpose and adventure on my mind.  I rush.  I can’t remember if I bothered to brush my teeth before I adventured.  Dec. 23 is one of the shortest days of the year, and I was not worried about anything else, except this:

 

 

I did not remain aware.  I did not know where exactly I was going.  I most certainly did not look at a map.  And, (drumroll, please), I had no idea which path led back to the rental house once my escape, err, beach walk, was over. But I most assuredly resolved not to tell my “pay attention to your surroundings” husband (who was probably just getting out of bed) about my, uh, path finding folly.

The steps that lead to the public access parking lot, and a westward walk on the road was my choice to wend my way to the rental house.  On the third step I find a large whelk.  A real beauty.  I pick up the shell, and the creature inside is wiggling.  I wish I had taken a picture, but I considered this situation a sea creature emergency. Here I go rushing again…I ran back to the water and pitched the shell back to the sea to what I hope will be a long, satisfying whelk life.

Maybe I should have explained to that wiggling creature to be more careful and aware of its surroundings.  The public access steps, or the public, in general, is no good place for a whelk, but on Dec. 23, it was surely a good place for me.

 

Undulate

Arriving?

the night sits
in meditative pose (prose)
on a pillow of
dawn’s insomnia

mournful, but brilliant
he asks
is summer on its way?

Brilliant

Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge #183

Orbiting winter
Satellites scanning for hope
No magic spacejunk

1 haiku/funnel

Scheming religion
Meteor through a funnel
Miracle enough

Funnel

1 haiku/allergic

From gilded towers
The allergic potentate
Chokes his sycophants

Allergic

Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge #182

Winter junction     Birth
days     Death days     Virginity
lost     Revelry won
Singed by light     Kisses in the
cold     Times Square deep in midnight