“A Few Haiku (30)”

(c) 2022 by Michael L. Utley

(#175)

the burning earth
raging sea and starless sky
nature’s broken heart

…..

(#176)

the blowing snow
winter’s children play hopscotch
on frozen fields

…..

(#177)

nine thousand miles
and years of pain lie between
my heart and my soul

…..

(#178)

does she remember
in her tropical winter
my world of snow

…..

(#179)

drafts have stilled the hearth
killed the fire in my soul
endless winter night

…..

(#180)

ice in wash basin
fingers too frigid to wash
cold thoughts from my mind

42 thoughts on ““A Few Haiku (30)”

    1. Thanks for your kind sentiments. Yep, #175 was written with climate change in mind. I could imagine nature’s intense pain and feelings of devastation after having been betrayed by humankind…the tears the anger, the lashing out…We really are destroying this place and it’s terribly sad to see it happen, and to witness so much apathy. I really appreciate your kind words. Thanks again! πŸ™‚

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    1. Hey, Mark. Thanks. For #180, I had an image of myself standing at an old enameled wash basin (like those used long ago) whose water was filmed with ice, and staring in the chipped mirror on the wall above it, seeing my haggard reflection looking back at me in despair. So, pretty happy imagery there! πŸ˜€ But yeah, solemn mood today, lots of things on my mind. I’m glad this one spoke to you. πŸ™‚

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    1. Thanks, Kirsten. These times are certainly fraught with uncertainty (with regards to #175). Nature’s heart isn’t the only one that’s broken. It’s terribly sad. #177 and #178 are intertwined for me. Someone comes along and fundamentally alters your life, then things fall apart and you find yourself alone and in shock, with so many questions and no answers at all. No closure. I’m still trying to figure out why things went wrong, and it’s been years now. So, I write bits and pieces in haiku, and more in longer poems, to try to let it go. And I can’t help but wonder if she still remembers… Anyway, I appreciate your kind comments, Kirsten. They mean a lot to me. I’m glad these held meaning for you. πŸ™‚

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    1. Thanks, Jeff. I really appreciate it. I suppose that’s the price we pay sometimes when we give our heart to someone. We don’t always get it back, and the resulting gap between heart and soul feels like a bottomless gulf. Thank goodness for poetry, you know? Honestly, it helps so much in my attempts to put things back on the shelf, so-to-speak. Your kind words are so welcome, Jeff. Thanks again. πŸ˜‰

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    1. Most definitely. Even though we’re waging war on our planet, nature will win in the end, and this world will recover and heal once we’re gone. It’s just sad that it’s come to this.

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  1. “the blowing snow
    winter’s children play hopscotch
    on frozen fields”

    I love the way you visualize “snow storm” as “children, “Snow storm” is a strong statement that only “children” (the worry-free) will engage it (play hopscotch” ) because they do not “feel cold”(frozen field). Love the message this haiku brings out!

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    1. My feelings exactly. I remember as a kid playing outside in the winter in the snow and cold and my mom yelling at me to put on my coat! I didn’t care–I was oblivious to the weather. I liked the imagery of snow storms and flurries frolicking about on vast winter fields as though they were children at play. The farm on which I was raised had a big wheat filed which, in the cold months, was host to “winter’s children.” I suppose I do have a few good memories of the farm after all. πŸ™‚

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    1. This is certainly my hope. I had a long-distance relationship with a woman who lived 9,000 miles away in Singapore. Poetry is helping me reach the metaphorical 10,000 mile mark, as you mentioned, in an effort of finally move on. Your astute observations are always a delight to read. Much appreciated! πŸ™‚

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    1. Yes, this one is layered with meaning. We used to talk about winter and snow, something she had never really experienced in her location (Singapore) but which she hoped and dreamed of seeing someday. Then there is the pain I still feel (my personal winter) and wondering if she even remembers me in her “world of sunlight.” “Tropical winter is no winter at all” is exactly right, too, and it’s a way of stating how she didn’t understand “my personal winter” or how her actions affected me. It’s difficult to understand the snow when all you see is palm trees and sand, so-to-speak.

      Heh…I was in an introspective mood when I wrote this collection, as you can probably tell!

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    1. Thanks, Lamittan. It’s definitely my goal to speak to the hearts of those who read my poetry. It’s a painful endeavor at times, but I think it’s worth the effort if I can connect with people. Glad you enjoyed these! πŸ™‚

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    1. This actually makes sense and I don’t think I’d have seen it in such a way without your pointing it out. πŸ™‚ I know from experience that sometimes you’ve got to get up in the middle the freezing night to add wood to the fire in order to warm the house up enough to sleep again, thus putting an end to the endless winter night. Metaphors abound and make poetry fun! πŸ™‚

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    1. Thanks, Terveen. Ah, winter… I remember nights so cold on the farm there was ice on the inside surfaces of my bedroom window. Ice on cow ponds had to be chopped with an axe to allow the horses and cows to drink. We had to keep a light bulb burning constantly in our little insulated pump house to prevent the pipes from freezing and breaking. So much ice! So many metaphors! So little time! πŸ˜€ I really appreciate your kindness, Terveen. Thanks so much. πŸ™‚

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  2. drafts have stilled the hearth
    killed the fire in my soul
    “This sneaky chilled air, so heavy to rise
    Drags down the life in me”
    Beauty of your words :; they connect feelings to nature’s essence ❀️

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    1. Perfectly said, Reena! Exactly the feeling I was going for in this one–the despair of a dead fire in the hearth, the chill of life weighing me down with sadness… Time to rekindle that fire, I suppose. Thanks for your nice words, Reena. Always appreciated. πŸ™‚

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    1. Thanks, Diana. I’m curious, too, to be honest. I’m in my annual doldrums right now. Spring is my favorite season so I’m looking forward to some brighter themes. I have to confess I really do enjoy writing about melancholy themes–they seem to hold more truth and meaning than, say, a poem about butterflies or kittens or (god forbid) bright shiny nickels! πŸ˜€ I expect a shift once spring arrives. It’s hard to be unhappy once baseball season begins. πŸ™‚ Thanks for your kindness, Diana. Much appreciated. πŸ˜‰

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