#1665 (#327)

it’s another world

in towers and without time

academia

#1664 (#326) (centre road)

a high-vis cyclist

i overtook at the start

goes past at the end 

#1663 (#325)

all lost in the car

gloves, money, phones, de-icer,

too many haiku

#1662 (#324)

new hope from biscuits

biscuits that help people out

charitable ones

#1661 (#323) (not roving)

sat among the stacks

contemplating my future

and hiding from work

#1660 (#322)

underwater or

behind windows, sound muffled 

not apart, not part

#1659

the moon is a tale

strange and fanciful hero

---

From words on page 33 of One Hundred Nights of Hero by Isabel Greenberg (Jonathan Cape, 2016).

#1658 (#321)

shelves of sleeping words

wait for their time in the light

for their transference

#1657 (#320)

cigarette marker

in the shape of a question 

leaving me with one

#1656 (#319)

in the old station

some routes are forgotten but

others still stay true 

#1655 (#318)

butterfly indoors

resting on the cool tile floor

waiting for evening

#1654 (#317)

half-finished haiku

litter the digital space

waiting for their end

#1653 (#316)

in the swimming hall

alone once more means i can

both read and write this

#1652 (#314)

bench in a puddle

stranded in a wide expanse

its seat not kept warm

#1651 (#313)

solitude come here

i adore and i abhor

solitude leave now

#1650 (#312)

faraway village

delicately mist shrouded

waiting for my voice

---

I wrote this but I do not understand it.  Where is the faraway village and why is it waiting for my voice?  I do not remember.

#1649 (#311)

a hand once unheld

a walk commute once lonely

his gentleman back

#1648 (#310)

wet stairs afterwards

all the blood washed clean away

the nightmare over?

---

Somewhere I saw someone washing stairs and I was reminded of a survivor of the Bethnal Green Tube Disaster who, having slept in the station overnight after escaping the crush, noticed upon leaving how the stairs had been washed of blood by the time they left the next morning.

#1647 (#309)

record player buzz

calling always to be played

just wants to be used

---

my record player, when plugged in, makes a constant noise that can fade into the background but, when noticed, sounds like it is crying out to play music

#1646

katydids cry out

for love - we think only that 

winter is coming

---

Written for the September Tricycle Haiku Challenge using the Aurumn season word, Katydid.

#1645 (#308)

intimidation

flags hung high with foul purpose 

we must stand taller

#1644

waiting to be heard

katydids sit in the trees

looking for poets

---

Written for the September Tricycle Haiku Challenge using the Aurumn season word, Katydid.

#1643 (#307)

so young that to him

cola bottles come in packs - 

no penny sweet world

#1642 (#306)

the side mirror view

lit by headlights behind me

the verge trees eerie

#1641 (#305)

the cat on our bench

huddled in the fence windbreak

bubbled from the cold