Haiku Harvest: A gleaning of poems from Toronto Harbor Island, September 2016

haiku-6A single white egg
on pale blue dinner plate—
early evening moon.

Am lucky to breathe
in and out and in and out—
the dead envy me.

The smell of cider
vinegar permeates air—
small apples rot on grass.

Just a few raindrops
but I know what is coming—
forgot umbrella.

I don’t stop to smell
the roses but stop to write
rose scented haiku.

We like it when leaves
turn from green to pale orange—
dying autumn dusk.

Two bluebirds alight
on branch and just fly away
into evening.

The commuter planes
descend one by one by one—
relieved to touch ground.
The chill breeze from lake
does not warrant wool sweater
or fear of winter.

I just meditate
with both my eyes wide open—
a dreamless mindscape.

Boredom becomes art
and flows into a timeless
practice without end.

The parade of life—
so many sizes and shapes
to confound the eye.

Fumbling and fuming
I rush, then wait, for late ferry—
but didn’t miss the boat.

Haiku fills time while
waiting for a late ferry—
now we are boarding.

Geese float single file
under graceful old stone bridge—
I join ferry queue.

Smell of burning leaves
when the trees are fully leafed
is odd aroma.

The first leaves of fall
to change from green to russet—
66 autums.
Still my favorite season
buts its voice is a tad sad.

Not walking toward you
not walking away from you
just walking with you.

Can’t stuff perfect day
into a brown paper bag
like a flawless pear.

Kiddies grab the rope
as though it were a lifeline
in waves of people.
Mothers are waiting for them
after their island field trip.

Anxiety is
another name for worry
among affluent.

The sultry night air
is gently stirred by night breeze—
Toronto Island.

First chill autumn night
makes my arthritic thumbs numb-
smell of burning leaves.

Masts like leafless stems
grown from the pea green harbor—
metal marine reeds.


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