Wands

Wands 

gave us bubbling sparks
with soap
drips
and (flower) puddles

when we were outside,
        the  sun  
and the wind
blew                   everything
away  

we could smell where we were,
the heat plated our skin
in sweat but we couldn’t figure out
if it was us, or the precipitation
of popped bubbles  

we ate popsicles and Freezies flavoured;
strawberries and raspberries 
and vanilla
                   pavement dawdled in
               leaking drips
and    rainbow puddles,  

we knew it was summer 
from the length of our strides. 

  

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When Everything is Over 

When Everything is Over – Collected Haikus 

If the sun were out
we would dance among the rays,
dandelion fluffs

The sky is deepened
the sun is gone with rain drops
a rainbow for us

If the world was gone
we would be pirates in space
the stars our bounty

Let’s land on the moon
sing for the sun and maybe
burn into soft ash

In a way this world
is headed for a one way
stop to destruction

It all comes to end
swirling clouds and hurricane
the sun comes lightly

The world is gone when
tomorrow hits and then we
can sleep well for once

 


 

Another collected bunch of haikus from different days of different weeks of different months all surprisingly having somewhat similar threads. Really, I’m not sure how that managed to happen.

Today Nothing Important Happens

Today Nothing Important Happens

And that’s fine. That’s really fine.

It’s almost as fine as being allowed to breathe the same air

every single day. It’s almost as fine as being able

to smile at the smallest things as they come, at the

strangest things as they appear, at things that don’t matter

to the future, but matter now.

 

Today nothing important happens: and I’m fine, since

Today the world hasn’t ended, and I’m still breathing, and

I can still reach up to the sky and watch as clouds drip

apart from my fingers and the city is still loud but closing my

eyes it all falls away and it’s only in the swaying winds

that I can see that Today nothing important happens, but I’m still alive.

 

Today nothing important happens, so I’ll mark this day

in my calendar and say that I’m not one step closer

to achieving my dreams (If I had any) nor am I one step

closer to being a “better” person (whatever that means)

nor have I become someone special (not that I want to.)

 

Today nothing important happens, so I’ll smile

and I’ll take a while to listen, to myself, for once,

and I know that the world hasn’t ended, so things

are going to be fine, and if things aren’t fine, then

I’ll just wait another day.

 

Where We Stand

Where We Stand

“I’ll always be above this line.

Here, the water is drenched in some kind of rust but,”

maybe it’ll be treated and if treated I won’t have to say

that being here drains me, but I can live here, and I can taste the water here.

Here, I’ll know where you’ll be, and you’ll always know

the sun bleeds orange onto the pavement. And

splotches of paint, end up where leaves gather on manholes, where

It’s just, sometimes, always, empty, by my side, but that’s okay since

I’ll always be above this line.


Below this line, is where I’ll be.

Here. And I know that

I can see shades of orange, bleeding into the pavement;

loose splotches of paint from the bulbs, coming together,

the stars, the moon,

Every step echoes in a crunch as leaves break. It all molds,

My eyes shut tightly to let it all find me, a soft ebb and flow.

Then I stop. The streetlights flicker, and it leaves an afterimage.

It’s empty. I can almost see you.

I stretch my arms to find you, but when I open my eyes.

Nothing.

And then I remember, where you are and I’ll say,

“Below this line, is where I’ll be.”

Arbitrary

Arbitrary:

The wave of words that crash within your ears
telling you that nothing you do will ever amount to anything.

Or:

The wealth of those around you, in your world,
that surround your eyes that cause your health
to rise into anything but, well.

Or:

“You can’t”
“It’s too late.”

Or:

Anything that doesn’t leave you having a smile at night or
a flight into the clouds where everything is, okay.
Anything that doesn’t leave you with something to ponder
during times of rain, where you can say with both hands held high
along with your eyes that “this is who I am, and where I am.”
Anything that says otherwise that you are what you are
and not defined by the lies spilled by things as fragile
as cries of worthless self-worth.
Or:

Thinking that: “none of this matters”