“A Few Haiku (37)”

(c) 2022 by Michael L. Utley

(#217)

clarity sundered
in the swelter and the din
of scorched memories

…..

(#218)

fitting denouement
thoughtless birds and bitter breeze
signify the end

…..

(#219)

I behold the stars
through the blurred prisms of tears
hope is beyond reach

…..

(#220)

holes in the pockets
of my soul; I lost myself
somewhere on the way

…..

(#221)

aloof stars shine on
while constellations of lives
perish on the earth

…..

(#222)

take my hand, my friend
do not cry, do not despair
you are not alone

27 thoughts on ““A Few Haiku (37)”

    1. Thanks, Lamittan. I didn’t want to end such a solemn collection on a sad note, so I offered a ray of hope, which as been offered to me by the members of this community: “you are not alone.” Glad you liked these, good sir! Thanks as always for your kindness. πŸ™‚

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  1. There are 3 things I’m embarrassed to admit to never preferring: b & w photography, icons, and haiku or any triune lines. (There are 4 things I don’t prefer, if you count Bob Dylan’s music. Indeed, these are NOT things one says out loud!) However, I find your superb haiku to be all but addictive, Mike. These lines are beautiful.

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    1. Thank you so much. This made me grin. And don’t worry–I won’t tell Bob Dylan about your musical preferences! πŸ˜€ I’m really flattered and humbled by your words. I really appreciate this and I’m happy to know these appeal to you. Many thanks! πŸ™‚

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  2. Thanks for the reassuring ending. I believe that my soul may be threadbare. Forget about having pockets. Haha! Don’t you just feel like you could be a thousand years old? I do, sometimes. Thanks for all the lovely words and the sprinkles of pain. It’s all worth it. Beautiful writing as always, Mike! πŸ™‚

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    1. Thank you, Terveen. Hey, threadbare souls are the best, so you’ve got nothing to worry about! πŸ˜€ As for feeling old, sometimes I feel like I’m 1,003 years old…except on Fridays–I feel like I’m only 997 on Fridays (youthful exuberance, yay!). I’m always happy to receive your comments. It’s so nice to know someone understand my painful scribblings. Thanks for all you do. I appreciate it. πŸ™‚

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  3. Incredibly beautiful collection as always. Love all of them, and the number 220 is absolutely brilliant! “Holes in the pockets of my soul!” A seemingly perplexing concept yet it makes perfect sense. It is remarkable how much of ourselves we keep losing with the passage of time and have no control over it. Ingenious!

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    1. Thanks, Aaysid. I had the mental image of walking along a dirt road and reaching into my pockets, only to find them empty–everything had fallen out because of the holes. We lose parts of ourselves as time passes, just as you said, and it’s shocking to reach a certain age and realize just how little of ourselves remains. Life is soul-crushing at times, and some people are rendered mere shells of their former selves because of it–hollowed-out, and you can see it in their eyes. Tragic. I’m glad you liked this one. I always welcome your comments and appreciate your kindness. πŸ™‚

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    1. Thanks, Jeff. Yep, I wanted to add a little hope at the end. Even in my darkest days, there’s hope to be found. Finding the strength to look for it is the hard part. And I know that what I write here can resonate with other folks and help them realize they’re not alone in their pain and depression and loneliness. It helps so much to know we’re all in this together. Thanks for your constant support and encouragement, Jeff. πŸ™‚

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      1. You’re welcome, Mike. I completely understand and agree with you. We have a beautiful community full of loving people, resonating as we travel together. It’s always my pleasure. Always. 😊

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    1. Thank you, Cindy. Writing helps. Life gets in the way so often, it seems, and the only outlet I have is writing, so I have an excess of melancholy and despairing poetry. But isn’t it strange how, although my poetry is so somber, my photography is so tranquil and hopeful? There’s such a duality there. it’s like, with my poetry, I attempt to describe my world, while my photography attempts to impose order on it. I think together they make a good combo to fight back against depression, although I’m no longer able to take part in photography, so I feel like there’s an imbalance now. Sharing my images here helps a lot–it brings back some amazing memories–but it’s not quite the same (or as powerful) as actually creating images. Anyway, I always appreciate your kind words. You’ve got a wonderful soul, Cindy. Thanks so much. πŸ™‚

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      1. You’re so welcome Mike! Life is a daily rollercoaster and it’s wonderful you have your pen and camera close by. It is a reflection like life with the duality you say so profoundly my friend. I do love those worlds. “while my photography attempts to impose order on it.”
        A great combo and you are so articulate with your words that are always so meaningful! πŸ’–
        I’m honored you feel that way. Thanks so much truly! πŸ’–πŸ˜Š and you’re so welcome!

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