Thursday, 18 January 2018

winter twilight



winter twilight
I slowly turn
myself off

previously unpublished



looking for someone
to devour
hunger moon

previously unpublished



siren song
pulling me deep
into the earth

previously unpublished


Friday, 5 January 2018

summer noon



summer noon
in you and me the same
heart of darkness

previously unpublished



butt of a Camel
buried in the sand
sound of the sea

previously unpublished



lady autumn
donning her best attire
to get stripped

previously unpublished

Thursday, 28 December 2017

white sheets



white sheets
on the sleeping fields
winter hospital

first published in Przekrój, December 2017



smell of coffee
in my piss
winter drizzle

previously unpublished



the world’s
out of joint
winter full moon

previously unpublished


Friday, 15 December 2017

cows’ tails



cows’ tails
hanging idly
autumn chill

first published in The Heron’s Nest, December 2017



all the wealth
that he left
golden leaves

first published in Tinywords, December 2017



winter rasp
in a crow’s caw
death metal

previously unpublished


Friday, 8 December 2017

falling snow



falling snow
her deep
husky whisper


first published in The Heron’s Nest

republished in The Wonder Code: Discover the Way of Haiku and See the World with New Eyes, Girasole Press, Chappaqua NY, 2017, ed. Scott Mason




a walk with father
the stream slowing down
near the mouth


first published in The Heron’s Nest

republished in They Gave Us Life: Celebrating Mothers, Fathers & Others in Haiku, Middle Island Press, 2017, ed. Robert Epstein


Friday, 1 December 2017

falling into



falling into
the warm cup of her hands
first snowflakes

first published in Presence, November 2017



An accidental meeting

How is he, how am I, how are others. The brain is a machine for comparing. He waited for a break in the conversation to start talking about himself. Boring as a scenario of a thriller. It smelled of an old crime story and he was decaying. More bacteria in the mouth than on the toilet seat of a long-distance train. Komodo dragons kill not with teeth but saliva. Genuinely moved, couldn’t get a word out, only tears. The news fell on him like a drunk chimney sweep from the roof. Finally a touch of black humor. Broken spine, wheelchair from the waist down.

the daguerreotype
of my memory
deserted streets

first published in Presence, November 2017


Thursday, 16 November 2017

washing make-up



washing make-up
from the old trees
November rain

previously unpublished



through the cracks
in the veneer
raw flesh

first published in Bones, November 2017



delivery
on a winter night
your steaming calf

first published in Bones, November 2017