Friday haiku 111

The ancient oak,
tired of resisting,
drops its leaves

Friday haiku 109

Call it a day
Call it whatever you like
No one owns the sunrise

Ah, we say, what a life!
and yet …

We are the heirs of discontent
we carry all colors among us
to their inevitable conclusion

Our eyes are rising swiftly
under an aging sun

What nourished our forebears
we find merely annoying
All those Bible Prophets mute
as sacks of sand

To build dikes against
a flood which never comes
and yet …

here we stand
precisely in their footpads

Sitting at the changing tide
Beside the ancient harbor
Waves already lapping our feet

The trees, exhausted
abandon their leaves
to the crowing wind

Don’t look for wild geese
to lift the darkening sky

That inner burning
that leaves you spent
will also light your way home