The wind blows,
The leaf is stuck,
The wind still blows.


The Winter Wind

The winter-wind bobbed the pine’s crown to and fro,
As if it were affixed to the star above it;
Right then I might as well have been a child;
Unsteady on his feet, unsure of his future –
The feeling so divine –
That I bid the wind blow me back and forth forever,
Like the pine feeling all at once: what was and will be.
I knew then that I’d be a writer:
The draw of that midnight dash
For a world not yet conquered
Too strong;
The destination of no import-
Victory or defeat both the same;
To the mind that dreams
Of a winter wind

The content of a moment

The content of a moment, any moment
As momentous as any age of gods
Walking amongst men,
This flem, this cough, this vague unease,
A haze of feeling,
Not to the taste of all
But valuable for all that,
An array of scents on the wind;
A dog barking,
The feel of the wet and the promise of storm,
The girlfriend thumping up stairs
And warmly into bed,
Like a tidal wave,
Emotions sweeps away detritus,
A high tide for the forlorn,
And where the water recedes,
Only empty sand and a naked body-
Pale but proud,
Of not trying to cover up anymore,
It’s just a human,
Flawed and fruitful,
In words and reason,
Insights and tears,
I’m amongst the toes,
With the sibling tide,
Down the plughole of discarded thoughts,
Forgotten poems
And feelings laying in wait
For another moment such as this!

Haiku #22


The wind rushed headlong,

over the hills and valleys,

of my selfish heart

(C) Copyright Mark B Williams 2014
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