3 more haiku on lightning & storms

Restless dreams at night
Toss’d ’bout on flashes of light
Ships on stormy seas

*******

A thunder not heard
The storm can’t hide its approach
Bright lightning flashes

*******

The quiet of night
Static on the radio
The rain comes lightly

coastal haiku

gulls flight in the night
coastal lights guiding their slumber
humans haunting sounds

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seagulls on the prowl
dive-bombing at lunch in hand
McDonald’s french fries

From The Coast

…on …laundry…

laundry

The early morning had an autumnal chill in the air and was overcast like so many clouded minds waking to the new day.

I was at the laundromat; not one of my favorite things. I go early, making every attempt to avoid the greedy rush of individuals jockeying for machines.

This morning eight other people had the same idea.

I had a book by Peter Handke that I was reading – ON A DARK NIGHT I LEFT MY SILENT HOUSE. It’s a short novel with prose that reads like poetry. It travels the razors edge of reality and dreams, so-much-so that, at times, I wasn’t sure if I was reading a really great story or if I was dreaming of reading. As I slipped farther and farther into the world of the story the sounds of the laundromat seemed more distant, muffled, even murky.

My quiet reading repose was interrupted by the RAT-A-TAT-TAT of machine gun fire – the sound of death – blasting from the mobile device of a seventy-year-old gray-haired grandmother playing an obviously violent video game and sitting near, too near me, lost in her own oblivion.
Annoyed by the cruel aural assault I just closed my eyes and let the sounds of the laundromat merge into a cacophonous free-jazz experiment; Albert King was playing on the overhead sound system swinging with updates about Hurricane Matthew, on the television, merging with the friendly chatter of others who seem to enjoy laundry – and company. Suddenly, a searing break of five washing machines whirring and buzzing, in their wild interlude, on the spin cycle in complete synchrony eventually to subside and merge with the rest of the sounds in this social sound-fest ending with the click click click click click of the same five machines stopping, signaling the cycle was over.

After drinking in all the sounds it was time to dry out, fluff and fold. The feeling of warm, fresh softness carried out to the car. Another week has ended. Now ready to start a new week, clean and clear. Ready to carry-on after this unpleasant sensorial massage. Ultimately satisfied. Paradox of mundanity.

When the Crows Awoke

I was there when the crows awoke
I’d seen them the night before
Flocking to nearby trees
Under cover of night
A whole murder of crows
Ominous shadows filling up tree branches
As if the trees were in full bloom
Large black blossoms
Shimmering with city light
In the winter’s night air

Now at daybreak
I was there when the crows awoke
Their cawing and chattering so loud
Drowning out the sounds of morning rush hour
…and then…
With excited whispering wings
took flight and were gone
Only the rumble and buzz of morning traffic remains.

***background: I live in the city. And we have a lot of old trees still standing. Of course all the leaves are gone now. I was watching an old silent movie on TV and out of the corner of my eye saw perpetual shadows flickering past my windows. Finally my curiosity got the best of me. I went to the windows and saw the trees filled with hundreds of crows… their arrival continued for at least a couple of hours. Of course I didn’t think to move my car which, although not directly under the trees was close enough for the birds to leave their “mark”. When I went out to my little blue car in the morning it looked like a Jackson Pollock painting with streaks, smears, splats and lines of crow droppings in white, yellow and brown as well as small twigs that had fallen from the trees. What a mess. All-n-all it was a magical experience and worth a trip to the car wash. 🙂