Perspective

The sun lights my face as I sit in this chair,
Though spring may be wary the weather is fair.
A bumblebee flusters and brushes my hair
So I leave the fluffy beast to roam in my lair.

As I switch seats a sudden thought flies,
Now on my back with no sun in my eyes,
The breeze softly kisses my cheeks so I rise
And bless the perspective this casts on my life.

No matter the seat or where the sun shines,
There's always a chance to rewrite the lines
From a different angle, sunkissed and sublime,
For now how my back has been warmed up, in time.

Presently aware

In the morning, I rise,

my beauty inside

and beside me, my beauty

smiles from within.

At the edge, I arrive,

all around the steam rises

as the cold stream subsides

and the thoughts run clear.

My beauty can't lie,

for those thoughts run dry

under glinting cobbles

of a wonderful dream.

Long beyond the mist

the clearest skies stretch

into sheer abundance,

mile upon mile.

Onwards and steady,

my path's laid bare

as over each fence

my foot meets a stile.

Victory lies forward,

the end not in sight,

except for the turn

of day into night.

Every step hears a crunch underfoot,

the splash of a puddle

or the crack of wood

as beside me my beauty strides on.

January's blue

The bruised skies
And wistful wind
Scratch my eyes,
Itching red.

I hug the blanket
To my tugging chest
As thoughts abound
My throbbing head.

My forehead sore,
My mind less pure
As home was lost
Through musguided lure.

The difference between
Me and my lure
Is I can do better,
She only worse.

And then I rise
And face the world
As growing light
Reveals them all.

A haiku for 2015

Look forward and never back

Realise happiness

Will your subconscious to act

The azzure hills

I love it when clouds appear as hills
Of tufts of grey amidst winter's chill,
Dullset underneath azzure skies.

The frosted sun casts a misty shadow
Over slopes melting under watercoloured glow
As the rising dew obscures milky light.

My love at once had felt such thrill
But met a heart shivering still.
Alas those clouds descended into night.

What choice do we have?

Does the butterfly choose where a gust takes the wing,
While the buzzard buffers the thermal wind?

The owl swoops in moonlight but does he decide
How silver the glint or the rush of the tide?

The pit viper patiently waits for the shrew,
Though is this a will for the prey passing through?

Do we know how we've made the choices we have?
Maybe that's kind, maybe I'm glad.

Maybe the mind, entangled with time,
Can accept what we have and the choices we've had.

Perplexed

Perpetually perplexed but never apoplectic,
Sometimes she smiles, the smile is septic.
Through ups and downs she often frowns
But my brow's much fonder of laughing.