“A Few Haiku (25)”

On By Mike U.In Poetry

(c) 2022 by Michael L. Utley

(#145)

whispers of the dead
desiccated teasel stalks
haunt the winter field

…..

(#146)

fuyu no shika
scornful mountains echo
mournful stag’s lament

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(#147)

in the end
my heart gropes in darkness
on life’s lonely path

…..

(#148)

jade remembrance
the hitch in my chest
as my heart shatters

…..

(#149)

barren winter field
this heart of mine
bereft of yours

…..

(#150)

in silence in shadows
cold earth trembles beneath
blanket of regrets

28 thoughts on ““A Few Haiku (25)””

    1. Thanks for the kind comment, Terveen. I find winter to be rife with melancholic symbolism. Add in depression and some Seasonal Affective Disorder and you’ve got the ingredients for a big pot of painful poetry stew. πŸ˜€ At any rate, I appreciate your comment. It means a lot to know my words resonate with people. πŸ™‚

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    1. Thanks, Mark. I think anyone who was raised on a farm can identify with the image of dead plants standing in the stillness of a bitter-cold winter field. Like I mentioned to David below, I’d never come across teasels until I lived in Oregon in the mid-’90s. I remember, however, in my youth on the farm when corn stalks would stand guard over the snow in the garden spot. Such forlorn imagery. I checked out your sunflowers essay and really enjoyed it. Porter’s poem was brilliant, as was Blake’s, but for different reasons. I’m thinking I’ll explore more of Porter’s writing. Thanks for the heads-up. πŸ™‚

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    1. Thanks, David. I had never seen teasels until I lived in Oregon in the mid-’90s. I was doing nature photography back then and was making images along the southern Oregon Coast one morning (I think it was Christmas Eve of ’95). I parked my truck on a pull-out on the highway and hiked down a steep hillside to get to a rocky beach south of Port Orford so I could photograph breakers crashing into huge black boulders in the surf (and I nearly got swept out to sea, but that’s a tale for another day). This incline was covered in tall dead grasses and strange-looking stalks that resembled the thistles back on the family farm in Utah. I had no idea what these dead plants were until I checked my wild flowers guide book. They’re pretty cool and can grow up to seven feet in height. I made some images of them but have none on hand at the moment (I never scanned the slides). Anyway, it was a fun adventure that day in my favorite place on the planet. If you ever get the chance, visit the Oregon Coast. πŸ™‚

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    1. Thanks as always, Grace! I truly appreciate your kind reviews and I’m glad you liked these. Wintertime offers so much inspiration. Who knows, maybe I can even write some happy winter poetry at some point! πŸ˜€

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    1. There’s such a sense of austere sadness in winter fields, isn’t there? My days growing up on a farm included long winters of barren stretches of snow-laden wheat, bean and alfalfa fields. Nothing but whiteness and glare and endless silence. Such fertile grounds for symbolism. On a side note, I visited North Carolina in the spring of 2003 but only for a few minutes (my bro-in-law from Myrtle Beach, SC wanted me to experience “authentic” Calabash shrimp, so we drove over the state line for that express purpose!). As always, thanks so much for your kind words, Kirsten. Glad you enjoyed these. πŸ™‚

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      1. There is. I sometimes think of winter as a spell, or force that can just take us and everything into it’s mysterious grasp. I can go on and on.

        Ahh. I miss NC seafood, hope you enjoyed it! And its so beautiful there in the spring.

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    1. Thanks so much! Your kindness is appreciated and I’m happy to know you enjoyed these. Haiku are fascinating little creatures, so enigmatic and slippery at times, but I love chasing them all the same. Thanks again for the nice comment. πŸ™‚

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    1. You’re too kind, Rhyan. Glad to hear you liked this batch. Speaking of the late watches o’ the night, I’ve always been the most creative and inspired late at night when everyone is asleep. There’s a silence and peace that I always embraced and it was when I felt most inclined to play my guitars or write. I guess you could say I felt like I finally had some control in my life when everyone else was snoozing. I miss the late-night jamming on my guitars, but I still find inspiration for writing in the wee hours. Guess I’m just a nocturnal dude. Anyway, your kind words are appreciated. πŸ™‚

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