silence speaks

the cat is incubating

a stretching of time

 the writing on the wall 

has broken the wall 

the wolves are free

 yet another day

the daffodils are still there

big blue sky

lavender

a persistence of waiting

fishing for the first bee

eventually

heaven is scent 

 it’s the little things

the places where one’s eyes go 

sight seeing

 a child at 007

has a license to kill

as any insect

 very heavy rain today

i’m glad it’s not bin day 

 twice a year

the house across the valley

fills mine with sunshine

 reading about the old poet

i become the old poet

watching him walk away 

 it’s so quiet here

i don’t need my hearing aid

i think i said

 recently widowed

the jogger in the cemetery 

tries to escape

 after a tough swim

snoozing in the sunshine

rite of spring

 blue sky when

the sun smote the lighthouse

roaring surf

 silence

a thought

the cat

 thoughts weigh heavily

where are we on the scale of things

between big and small

 february 

hopes budding on cherry trees

fly away

 writing poetry

i make an exhibition of myself

every day

 reading

under a night lamp

a poem  buzzes 

 daffodils 

laughing uproariously 

in a sun-shower

 the leading role was 

a person with dementia

but i couldn’t remember my lines

 rain drops

reflecting on the daffodils

dancing in a puddle

the cat and the mouse

god’s design for life’s end

resuscitation ad nauseam

winter swimmers

comparing notes

blue ink 

 butter oozing 

through a hole in the toast

log fire

 blue sky white clouds

the rabbit tails are bobbing 

through the ant hills

 february 

the robin and the quince

both in blush

 wild sea swimming

defragmenting

in a moment

the moment

it defragments 

 cancer

even trying astrology

was unforetold 

 thaw

the snow man

becomes a coalman

 just being there 

when a haiku bud opens

is enough

 the hunter-gatherer

in aisle seven

is off his trolley

 turning in 

as the world turns

night into day

 oh look

that girl in a mini skirt

has pink wellies

 urban clearway

the parking spaces sign

has a migraine attack

 heavy rain

the bus driver in a traffic jam

looks bored 

rain at lunch time

the men with hi viz jackets

are glowing

 please take note

writing haiku on a car journey

hi siri 

OCD

CHECKMATE!

in just 

          one 

               more 

                         move 

 waterfall 

behind the dancing rainbows

so uplifting 

 february 

the rain having passed through

is followed by rain

 the cat’s tail

bird there bird bird bird

through the window

 february rain

the frog in my throat

returns again

 rain

the train spotter

is steaming 

dusk

relaxing of the light

in a soft armchair

 a reflection 

between your mirror

and my mirror 

 it rained 

all the way there and back

and yet here i am 

 OCD

CHECKMATE!

in just one more move

 a couple with OCD

CHECKMATE!

in just one more move

 sounds of the sixties

again and again

i am sixteen again

 rain on the window 

wind on the shuttering 

restless night 

 walking walking

so that he would not die

although he was dying

oyoguhito 

repeats

time was

 trying to delete a full stop

that is nothing more than

a spot on the screen 

 jim young has been writing haiku since 2016 

he writes under the pen name oyoguhito 

which translates as ‘the swimmer’ which is

particularly apt as he swims in the sea at

rotherslade gower all the year around 

most of his haiku are written on his walks

to and from the beach or in his beach hut 

or even in the sea 

 the whole world

is a prompt for a poem

to an open mind 

 their poems

lining up patiently 

waiting for a name

 a child’s question 

on the back of that question

rides another question 

 life is

no it isn’t 

well it was

 winter swim

it takes such a long time

to get warm again

 documenting 

dicky mint 

i think i knew

what he meant

 the acceptance 

of a submission 

is in the sending

 tadpoles are wriggling

in a facet of the cut glass 

your blood runs

 at first light 

the way becomes clear

there are many paths 

 the lady in the bread shop

said she fell on the way to work

medium sliced

 only i 

am more stupid 

than that stupid fly

 looking to the future

my end

creeps up behind me

 21C

oh dear

oh dear oh dear

oh dear oh dear oh dear

 the universe

perhaps it is an art gallery

for super novae 

which room are we in now

perhaps we hanging there

 the night sky

such a lot of outer space

but all i see is stars

 they are back

the collared doves 

are back

 mole hills

on the grass verge

NO PARKING