an anonymous
new year's gift -
of sniffles

just enough snow
to show
a cat's passed by

bitter night
the last
of the honey

in one room
after another
winter chill

the winter sun
is enough to melt
a hard frost
why do useless attachments
last for a lifetime?

fainter and fainter
down the darkening road -
'comfort and joy'

Christmas Eve
settling down to re-read
an old book

almost Christmas
a section in the card shop
marked 'religious'

no moon
to play the ghost of hope -
winter solstice night

cafe window -
for a while we're on the inside
looking out

lost glove
palm up - holds the curve
of the fingers

slipping back
into the soft dark
of a winter dream

the street preacher -
his voice
and the busker's


down the high street
a boisterous crowd
of Santa Claus balloons

cool moon
beyond the flickering
of coloured lights

advent -
the stubs
of last year's candles

year's end -
a hint of green in the taste
of a red tomato

on the bus
we talk of God, the holocaust
and handkerchiefs

nothing to say
moon below
the telephone wire

playing
that song again
I remember
why I stopped
playing that song

not smiling -
woman with a basketful
of cartoon pyjamas

each step up
the library stairs
smaller bits of leaves

stress-ball globes
the office worker
juggles

December drizzle -
discount shops selling
artificial snow

a silver star
in the window
of a grubby pub

fifty-two
small blank squares
my year planner

clenched fingers
deep in a coat pocket
the numbing cold
of a house key
on a metal ring

playing a tree
he bends
to check the script

quiet zone
the only person in there -
on the phone

quiet is the new smoking according to Pete Ashton

rain clouds
darkening
the morning sky

technical hitch
the speaker suggests we
talk amongst ourselves

oak leaves
falling through
an icy stillness

morning frost
the honey has hardened
in the jar

mist and smoke
these long nights
also pass

news headlines
I focus on the word
plight

this morning's class
why am I at the front
talking?

heroic statues bound
with strings
of Christmas lights

cold snap -
an eccentric assortment
of hats

two-for-one deals -
Elvis complains that he's
lonely this Christmas

senryu, probably

in the meeting
on virtual meetings
a presentation
on software
for presentations

kyoka - 'mad song'

bleary eyed
I keep polishing
my glasses

winter sun
the coldness
of a white envelope

fantasy
on a Friday afternoon
back down
to earth
at moonrise

winter bench
two beer cans
and a sleeping bag

winter moon
the toddler's delight
at a bus ride

winter moon
milk and honey
in the fridge

winter moon
we don't share the good news
or the bad

new diary -
the paper cut
stings

my notes
of the meeting -
snail in a hat

Remembrance Day
the memory
of different silences

gridlock -
the guide dog's eyes
slowly close

after midnight
that song I can't get
out of my head

days of rain
a spent firework
in the gutter

quarter moon
Christmas trimmings
in the pound shop

woken
by a senseless fear...
there may not be
enough dreams left
to last the night

evening rain
the stallholder cries
'half price flowers'

westbound train
glides along beside
still water

working late
red leaves
on all the screen savers

librarian
keeps the best of last year's
autumn leaves

All Saints Day
on the bus they share
a joke, a kiss, a chip

all-hallows eve
the small boy brandishes
a plastic pitchfork

sax solo
the long slow wail
of Wasted Years

exile

sometimes I hear
the language
of my home

in old songs
mostly just
a word or two

once
it seems
in every twenty years

I hear
someone who sings it
fluently

then turns
and walks away

[This is not haiku, but it's strongly influenced by haiku. ]

small hours
the hiss of tyres
on a wet road

evening rush
.............into
the autumn sunset

dismal night
sorting the recycling
from the rubbish

(this could be about either household or poetic waste, who can tell?)

after the deluge
a huddle of smokers
by the door

new coolness
a beer can clattering
along the gutter

curtains drawn
the autumn evening
closes in

by email
another poem about
failing to communicate

a bank of cloud
over
the city walls

the bright edge
of a cloud
that hides the moon

autumn term
a gold sequin
on the library stairs

no stars
just raindrops
on the window

morning fog -
but even so
the sun rises

afternoon rain -
from my window I see someone
at his window

morning mistiness
the delicate white
of old scars

behind the man
sweeping up leaves
leaves fall

a dark morning
the seagull's mew lost
in a siren's scream

in the crook
of a branch the curve
of a squirrel

fallen leaves -
the same pattern repeated
over and over