Haiku, anyone? or, On Writing
Anyone for a haiku?
Category: Prose & poetry
Through Soil Of Pain & Song
A million seeds, a million more:
the boy-child sown and scattered.
Flight
I need to learn to look, to gaze, at the pitch
of the passing ‘tween the tunnel’s either end.
Time-Warped Scraps
Time-warped scraps – the dream continues on,
unphased by the approaching of its limits.
Their Stealthy Freedom: a poem for the women of Iran
Wearing, proud, the wind that weaves without,
and now within,
the wistless soul that falls out free across the shoulders.
Approaching Midnight
And here I am in that moment,
leafing through the scattered others.
To Softly Settle In The Sweeping Wake
And so it begins again, the collection of dust.
Absent The White Roses: on monuments in deeper history
Nothing beside remains. Something beside remains.
Coexistence
I have, for so long now, found so little wild, so few pockets without their shadow, and so few of the wilder, natural prey. They are not within my grasp.
Go Tell The Gods
Trying, some desperately, some half-heartedly, to weave themselves back into the web that they severed themselves, at once with vicious intent and complete indifference, from.
william altoft 