Friday haiku 136

Fridays piling up
Like migrants at the border
The poet snoring

Friday haiku 66

A sunlit patch in winter
the wild song of geese
returning

Friday haiku 32 and 33

I was in the midst of travel commotion last week, and missed posting my Friday haiku, so I’m doubling up today.

North is south this year
confused,
geese stay put

In a deep corner
of my self
a patch of soil

River

A plane touches down
At Sana airport

Taxis past broken lives,
Dead dreams,
Opens its bay and accepts
A stream of humanity
And departs

It’s an old river
Its drainage is ambition,
Pride, retribution.
It has flowed in torrents
Since all of time

See, here, on this map
The deep gorge it cuts
Through history
Its course so familiar
It is forgotten
By every new generation

Some seek power, wealth
Others, only refuge.