Friday 20th May 2005

Woke early - 5am early! And decided to doodle a few words. It always makes one feel better if there's evidence that mind or body can function - albeit, debatably so. It was a fine morning, until mist and rain drove in on the tide. White horses? They were rearing to meet the black clouds and morphing into grey oblivion!

BBB

Once more, he had evaded capture by mere nanoseconds! Lying breathless and unseen, he gazed up, as though mesmerised, watching the sapphire spangled azure fight a losing battle against ink-filled storm clouds - the bruising soon apparent!

Somehow, the scene reminded him of Edwin Morgan's "Little Blue Blue" in a rage. He almost laughed aloud, as his palpitating heart soothed to the melodic beat of feet on the street, as the furious little angel screeched out his electric blues to falling stars.

Along with the rain, he suddenly felt the glancing blow of a forgotten past - Scottish summers, with their blustery breezes turning pages of books unasked - and a dose of nostalgia flooded his veins.

Perhaps that is where he should be? Fleeing northwards in search of his answers.

WHAT IS HAIKU?

Of Japanese origin - usually 17 syllable poems often, but not always, with a seasonal overtone. They don't need to rhyme.

Is HAIKU the opposite of LOW-BULL? I have often wondered that...

So, I thought I'd ask - Excuse me, Sir, I did cry - And asked my question.

But the teacher in my writing classes,

Peering over his milk-bottle glasses,

Simply shook his head, and sighed.

(This example is not HAIKU, this is TOTAL BULL!)

It's amazing what one can do with only seventeen syllables!

I am an addict! Head of administration? Seven syllables!

Where did my job go? Administrative changes - That's what they called it!

We part company, promising one another, to meet again soon.

Those false promises, made on a fine Spring evening, beneath a full moon.

Gossamer clouds form on the sun-kissed horizon, like golden fleece.

Showers of diamonds - technicolour striations of shimmering light.

Glorious colour, symmetrical perfection - hiding pots of gold.

Sun on weeping skies - prophecy of a rainbow unfolds before me.

Winter sun retreats, as the soft white snow glistens on crisp russet leaves.

Emeralds sparkle from glittering green pastures, awakened by Spring.

The Swallows return with the Swifts and Sand Martins - Summertime once more.

Have you forgotten the promise you made to me? Have you forgotten?

How could you forget the promise you made to me? You never came back!

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