Capodanno

Last day of the year
Last haiku- a drop of light-
to see us through the night.

Via Pergolesi

Winter trees dressed with
oranges- bright globes to light
busy shopping streets.

The Cake Decoraters

Three men in bright coats
sprinkle cocoa grit lightly
on the white iced streets.

Last night's dinner

My kitchen smells like

the inside of a tagine-

dark, warm, deep brown spiced.

Hunger

Haiku are poems

for people who have a fast

metabolism.

Noise 3

Orchestra of yawns
tuning up every morning
in my husband's mouth.

Noise 2

The shower that drips
on and on is my headache-
persistent drum beat.

Noise

The fly that buzzes
round the room is my headache-
alive and throbbing.

How not to cry

Think of the black tracks
that your mascara will make
on your pristine cheeks.

How to drink a cappucino

Stir in the sugar
with care, without breaking
the frothy cocoa heart.

How to sleep well

Eat a banana
and read from a book of poems
just before bed.

Writing haiku on the way home

Counting syllables
on the steering wheel- fingers
tapping unseen words.

Season of mists

All the colours gone
except a wall of red vine
leaves, huge hands waving.

Lost:

One husband, last seen
with new mobile phone and small
book of instructions.

Raindrops keep falling on the radio

"I'm never gonna

stop the rain by complaining-

because I'm free..."

Morning music

The bathroom door swings.
The wire hanger on its hook
quivers, jangles, sings.

Rain on Friday

Rain savvy student
hair wrapped in a plastic bag-
a Tesco turban.

Thursday, 10pm, M1

No satellite found
to navigate through the night but
I don't lose my way.

Rain on Wednesday

Stepping off the train
through a shimmering curtain
strung with beads of rain.

Monday Choirs

What if every chore
was really a choir, singing
a list of praises?