“A Few Haiku (52)”

(c) 2022 by Michael L. Utley

(#307)

dry gourds rattle
among cautious deer hooves
the forgotten garden

…..

(#308)

sing loudly, moon
for my heart is deaf
and my soul yearns to dance

…..

(#309)

there is peace
in the aftermath of tears
the joy of sorrow

…..

(#310)

let go the acorn
trust the earth
to keep its promise

…..

(#311)

an eternity
from your eyes to my heart
a tear’s journey

…..

(#312)

dull silence
a stone flung at a post
a summer’s field in winter

61 thoughts on ““A Few Haiku (52)”

    1. Many thanks, Friedrich. I’m always humbled by your support. #312 is a nod to the feeling I experience when I view your surrealistic art: a sense of otherworldliness and tension and balance, a strangeness among the commonplace. So, a bit of a tribute, you could say. πŸ™‚ Thanks again, my friend! πŸ™‚

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  1. Your words depict journeys of so many kinds. When there’s a start and a finish to something consider that a journey in itself. Hopefully we can aspire to learn from each one and continue with hope and faith in our hearts. Lovely writing, Mike. Straight from the soul. πŸ™‚

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    1. You always know what to say, Terveen. πŸ™‚ Thanks for such a meaningful comment. “Journeys of so many kinds” is right–we all have many stamps in our life passports, and many roads yet to explore, as well as those upon which we’ve taken but a few tentative steps. I know we won’t finish all of them, but hopefully the journeys we complete will bring us a little happiness. We all deserve rest at the end of a long day, don’t we? Many thanks, Terveen, for your wisdom and kindness. πŸ™‚

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    1. Thanks, Kirsten. Growing up on a farm, I used to love throwing rocks at fence posts (the act of throwing something repeatedly is so relaxing and meditative). For the longest time now, I’ve had that image in my mind and wanted to write about it but nothing seemed to materialize in my head until this morning.; I still recall the dry, echoing *thok* of the rock hitting the wooden posts. It was such a fun pastime for me (yes, I’m weird… πŸ˜€ ). I’m pleased this one resonated with you. There’s just something about silent, empty fields… Thanks for your kind words. πŸ™‚

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    1. Thanks, Jeff. The juxtaposition of joy/sorrow in the same line could have been awkward, but I think it works in this instance. And yes, those floodgates are cleansing and calming. I truly appreciate your enthusiastic support, good sir! Here’s wishing you a wonderful weekend, too! πŸ™‚

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    1. Thanks, Jordyn. Usually most of what I write is quite melancholy, but every now and then something hopeful makes it to paper (or screen). I, too, find this one brimming with hope, and I really liked the imagery (I have a thing for acorns, apparently πŸ˜€ ). I’m glad to know this one spoke to you and I appreciate your thoughtful and kind comment. πŸ™‚

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    1. Hey, Mark. From one tree fan to another, many thanks for your kind support. I had the first two lines of #310 written for a few weeks but just couldn’t find an ending for it until today. Glad you liked it. Take care and have a good rest of the weekend. πŸ™‚

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    1. I’m always happy to see your comments, Peggy, and always grateful for your kindness. As for the haiku you mentioned, I think I have an acorn fixation! πŸ˜€ And it’s true about finding a little bit of joy in our sorrow. The release of emotions, the flow of tears, can be healing and soothing. I’m so glad you like these. And I hope to continue sharing my heart and soul. Here’s wishing you a good weekend! πŸ™‚

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    1. Thanks a bunch, Cindy. I love the moon and I miss music so much… Sometimes it really does feel as though the moon sings to us and speaks to our souls. Here’s hoping we all are able to dance someday. πŸ™‚

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    1. Thank you, Xenia. I value your judgment so much, so it’s always humbling to receive your kind comments. I truly appreciate it. And a happy Sunday to you and Misty, too! Much love from chilly Colorado! πŸ™‚

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  2. These are so beautiful, everyone written draws a tear of mixed feelings for me anyway. Number 312 touches my heart deeply. I have often wondered what it would be like to be deaf. When I was younger I use to thank God every day for each of my senses. I need to do that more of that again. I am curious if you have a sixth sense and I am guessing you do. Mine developed while growing up as a matter of survival but later I asked God to take it away because it was becoming too strange.

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    1. Thanks, Joni. I’m happy to know these haiku appealed to you. Yes, being deaf is weird. I can still hear some sounds, but human speech is pretty much indecipherable at this point and I must rely on people writing or typing what they say in order to understand, and that’s a huge inconvenience for people. So, I just stay at home all the time and I’ve become reclusive. I believe my eyes compensated for my ears throughout my life, and this helped me when I got into photography as I was accustomed to noticing things around me perhaps more so than “normal” people do. Now my vision is worsening (age-related) so every day is an adventure now! πŸ˜€ No sixth sense here, but I did develop coping/survival strategies while growing up in a dysfunctional home that helped with situational and environmental awareness. I had to be on my toes all the time at home, you know? Also, being so introverted and growing up in a chaotic home (on a farm far from town, no less), I spent much time in introspection, turning inward to try to find a safe place. I think this has had a tremendous impact on both my writing and photography. I’ve mentioned before that my poetry is my way of describing my chaotic life, and my photography is my way of imposing order on that chaos. My poetry is extremely melancholy, but my nature photography is serene and quiet and contemplative. A sort of balance is achieved. I’m not doing photography anymore for a variety of reasons, so it feels like a big part of me has died and there’s not much balance anymore. Now, it’s the act of writing itself that brings brief moments of fierce joy, even when what I’ve written is despairingly depressive. I suppose we all do our best with what we have. Thanks for your kind words, Joni. Much appreciated. πŸ™‚

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    1. Thanks so much, Grace. Your kindness is most definitely appreciated. I’ve just checked out your blog–you’ve got some amazing poetry! Thanks for stopping by. You’re always welcome here, my friend! πŸ™‚

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      1. Awww you’re so sweet to come visit my way, truly appreciated 😊! Such a treat to have connected with you today, I look forward to many more visits to your beautiful site!!!

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