Ripples
haiku
by
John
R Parsons
light
ripples
through
a web
I
think of old friends
her
memorial cowslips
bow
their heads
each
new location
tidal
pools
winkle
tracks meander
over
prints of waves
as
I pass
a
robin barely looks up
from
his bath
quivering
winds
countless
thrift shiver
at
landfall’s edge
kitchen
table
so
many years of heads
bowed
spring daffodils
bend
in the river
slight
swirls a sign
of
deep currents
combination
lock
all
these years still rusts
on
the safety rail
gulls
on the bar
check
plumage and wait
easy
pickings
tide
line whelk eggs
and
bubble pack picked
over
by jackdaws
path
through bracken
side
to side
the
skip of rabbits
ancient
stile
cross
bar polished
dark
by DNA
dark
centred eyes
tree
mallows
tearful
with bees
a
gull’s shadow
speeds
up the cliff
to
keep pace
wind
plays
on
the lake lily pads
roll
over
first
warm snap
checking
the summer house
a
foreign wasp
part
sighted
it
takes me all day
to
fit a blind
funeral
directors
display
their old bier
with
a face lift
flamelike
through
winter mist
magnolia
buds
winter
pruning
I
find the spring
from
old secateurs
fox
territory
marked
at the top
of
my garden steps
sun
warmed to hand
oval
iron stones
briefly
skim waves
seat
by the sea
sparrows
in mustard
we
eat a packed lunch
window
spider
between
points of rain
its
compass of web
Hastings
side line
on
the unused buffer
a
preening gull
above
gorse flowers
goat
willow catkins drop
yellow
light
as
I fold
the
rotary line an orb
web
closes in too
marsh
harrier swoops
rooks
skirmish to cackle
evasion
techniques
bathroom
cupboard
his
hair scissors
and
hers for nails
camellias
even
in high winds
calmly
pink
upper
shore line
islands
of sea cabbage
tempt
fate
recycled
wood
I
blow spiders into
other
dimensions
bird
bath
passing
ripples
left
by sparrows
patio
table
my
heart rate
taken
by tea
how
sleek fast
skims
each swallow
past
these slow wits
pinks
on the table
between
us extend
evening
thoughts
in
next door’s garden
five
old footballs
belong
to the dog
from
the garden
after
spring rain
petal
covered shoes
transplanting
aconite
at
the foot of our oak
for
transience
wasps
build goblet nests
in
the shed while
the
oak puts on leaf
wall
flowers
a
small white flirts
with
its mate
studio
clean up
under
most recent
works
no dust
valley
head
how
distant skylines
restore
spirit
seaside
car park
they
picnic in their car
gulls
on the roof
purse
mother left
in
a small pocket
her
tarnished penny
well
past midnight
from
his lit up shed
sounds
of funk
dark
waters
moorhens
disturb fractals
of
bare trees
shadows
lengthen
shapes
of hills become
transparent
whales
as
it stalks
a
sense a oneness
in
the heron’s step
light
dawns on
frozen
smiles their wedding
no
one remembers
heat
haze
piercing
thick air
shards
of robin song
bottom
of cliffs
coltsfoot
engraved
by
leaf miners
heat
haze
figures
gulls trees groins
translucent
painted
ladies refuel
soon
the jet stream
and
Saharan skies
dawn
chorus
through
chirps of sparrows
a
solo robin
winter
meadow
horses
in blankets
embed
stillness
leafless
birch
on
each slender tip
a
catkin in waiting
post
on the bank
each
dog checks for
recent
deposits
december
sun
butterbur
in flower
imagines
its spring
New
Years Day
under
the Christmas tree
my
old slippers
endless
waves
continually
adjust
infinite
shingle
above
the sea wall
wind
surfers kites meet
and
turn back
on
honey suckles
open
to all offers
the
cabbage white
dusk
a sickle
moon
church bells
and
owl calls
George
Barker’s grave
he
called me communist
for
answering back
against
seafront sun
a
white poodle high steps
in
gold fringes
mixed
bathing
after
cleaning the bath
blackbirds
with blue tits
remembering
her
a
pure white squirrel
crosses
the track
hermit
crabs
in
captains hats
my
dream
memorial
copse
a
fake stile adds irony
to
alien trees
expectant
gulls
hunch
into cold winds
on
one leg
one
way system
a
chap with his arm
down
a man hole
abbey
gate house
castellations
underlined
in
white by doves
building
site
before
climbing a fence
he
wipes his feet
trussed
in a bin bag
house
to house
my
old guitar
lawn
mowing I leave
clover
and daisies
for
her and bees
tears
for lost friends
drying
them
on
memories
market
place
homeless
on
I phones
sheep
meadows
grazed
down
to
creeping buttercups
heron
takes off
black
wings settle
amongst
alexanders
raking
in fish
and
bone I note shoots
of
fritillaries
beneath
a netsuke
even
more
superb
carving
engraved
in wax
on
our table fragments
of
a thousand words
sawing
wood
father’s
hands
now
mine
high
street
child
with a dinosaur pack
waves
to a pigeon
map
of woods
key
fixed to its post
labelled
‘back door’
castle
lawns
clearing
picnic tables
a
pied wagtail
cleaning
the shed
flutters
of light
from
lacewings
full
moon
above
ox eyes
tide
rolls in
across
the page
a
greenfly’s progress
clears
my pen
where
stone age tracks
often
appear eyes tune in
for
a cutting edge
first
resident
a
new fence under
wolf
spider’s eyes
military
canal
reed
heads march
straight
as a die
first
apple blossom
a
sparrow answers
the
chiff chaff
florists
window
bonsai
elms badly
in
need of a shower
all
that moves
down
the valley
in
the buzzard’s eye
in
the stream
over
the cliff
a
tent peg
each
time he visits
he
bends to smell
the
fake roses
still
in the dingy
full
of water a rusting
mountain
bike
she
gives the beggar
a
biscuit for the dog
he
eats half
National
Trust entry
sneaking
under the gate
house
sparrows
magpie’s
racket
in
trees behind
a
cat drops out
Kipling’s
lake
through
clouds of tadpoles
darts
of golden orf
sea
front sun
on
regency facades
a
passer by’s smile
seawards
on stunted oaks
foams
of grey lichen
echo
wintry seas
finches
from thistles
flush
cheeping wind
breasted
gold
radar
mast
revolves
warbling
metallic
octaves
unused
meadow
fresh
molehills darken
under
scabious
exchange
rate
in
the fake wishing well
gold
fish
taking
that same snail
to
the garden’s end
yet
again
spread
in sun
a
harvestman’s legs point
to
delicate shadows
late
autumn
windfalls
floating
in
the wheelbarrow
country
walk
that
bobble hat
I
left on the stile
old
anthology
haiku
last longer
than
names
is
present both past
and
future I return
to
warmth of my bed
mud
coloured lake
pond
skaters zig zag
over
languid carp
in
a tattered web
sheep’s
wool carded
by
wind
stepping
stones
past
fleabane
into
agrimony
above
ruins
the
sign of a cross
is
a kestrel
along
the beach
sound
of his voice
wanders
off
darkness
under cliffs
the
way picked out
by
cuttle fish bones
New
Years Day
her
new roses die
before
old ones
a
candle she lights
for
him pairs up
in
double glazing
january’s
first
half
moon tilts
a
faded edge
mighty
surf
frail
gulls hover
to
snatch morsels
trapped
plume moth
risking
a wobbly stool
to
free it
what
does a tree
know
of itself
or
a star
old
harmonica
I
blow a last blues before
passing
it on
evening
sun’s
dazzle
thins girders
on
the pier
colder
days gnats
use
my head’s warmth
for
a dance
half
moon
still
some sun’s heat
in
his old stone chisel
rhythms
of change
kissing
gate swings to
in
passing
how
deep
such
a small rivulet
carves
time
request
stop
buzzards
wheel over
bus
flies past
our
Buddha’s neck
the
tiny bell she gave us
no
longer rings
ferns
by the path bow
under
their own breath
rocks
wear thin
still
autumn air
what
causes gossamer
to
gently rise
we
share the house
with
a beautiful spider
big
and fast as a mouse
garden
path
she’s
been this way
white
tissues
flocks
of starlings
rise
and flow dark waves
through
dry grasses
tattered
on the wall
a
Dylan tribute poster
blows
in the wind
green
house
snails
discover seedlings
with
silver
morning
thoughts
of
dear ones a single
mote
floats across light
leaving
the field
of
lambs I retie
a
bow on the gate
suddenly
my
moon shadow
peeing
in the dark
evening’s
opalescence
on
a blue grey town
at
year’s end
inbuilt
sat navs
peacocks
reunite
on
our lavenders
crimson
sunset
Beachy
Head’s green mist
compliments
he
talks
on
the phone gestures
self
explanatory
our
New
Years lunch
two
boiled eggs
still
soft enough
always
in the way
of
best blackberries
stinging
nettles
dawn
rain
a
young fox turns crazy
round
the garden
sea
front
miniature
train
driven
by a pirate
sea
side garden
on
fake grass
two
plastic storks
tide
turns
thrown
high and dry
one
flip flop
across
the levels
each
quiff of reeds
barbered
by westerlies
dusk
on the marsh
a
tawny owl’s call
gathers
mist
town
gardens
new
Christmas trees
on
top of old ones
son
I never had
dies
the grief I feel
now
I never will
bitter
winds
from
a dingy doorway
faint
ukulele notes
what
ocean vestige
this
web of light
your
mind
lines
of pigment
strata
of bivalves
old
as the gorge
Bank
Holiday
above
cliff fall a rib cage
of
cirrus
layers
of soft rock
sculpted
by waves
into
Henry Moores
beacon
hill
parasol
mushrooms
shade
shepherds purse
wayside
lake
submarine
cormorants
leave
swirling trails
homeless
old man
beside
his dog
empty
take-aways
Ho
Tei on our shelf
smiling
all these years
of
thick and thin
dead
fox laid out
in
summer now bones
and
shreds of skin
huge
dumper trucks
bring
the beach back
from
its
other end
narrow
lane
on
ivy the tiger moth
waits
for a sketch
where
tracks divide
musk
mallow flutters
deep
cut petals
body
shaped tree
reflects
on its head
in
the lake
from
a mole hill
bluebell
bulbs for her
spring
surprise
by
the green house
a
sizeable wood
in
flower pots
sluggish
waters
dusty
rafts
of pussy willows
slowly
revolve
webs
burdened
by
spent seeds
belly
with wind
new
station precinct
through
brick weave
brambles
and buddleia
overlooking
sea
their
patio’s fake grass
floats
on the wind
from
the butt
bloodworm’s
last flicks
amongst
seedling lettuce
high
tide
lobster
tails still with
a
degree of flex
hospital
visit
old
lag cuffed
between
warders
homeless
old man
over
his shoulder
a
small copper
wildflower
meadow
checking
two I phones
the
naturalist
each
window corner
webs
flutter legs
and
wings
Titans,
the queen wasp
buzzes
in a
funnel web
spider
reverses in
beetle
fly past
black
carapaces static
vibrating
wings
into
sun’s haze
cut
out figures reflect
isolation
beyond
the tide
an
old punt rots
for
his return
pub
brass section
no-one
hears the scream
when
I get cramp
Bodiam
Castle
car
park guarded
by
a pill box
amongst
cuttle fish
skeletons
the sole
of
a trainer
skinned
by the sea
an
ivy bound trunk
white
as bone
path
by the lake
cormorants
roost
beneath
lark song
evening
bird song
each
note trails
a
faint echo
charity
shop
smells
of old clothes
force
my exit
bowed
deeply
wild
daffodils defy winds
I
nurse my back
Close,
once
woodland
where
primroses
cling on
in
the gutters
foxing
hour he stares
sideways
tracks crossed
then
turns
into shadow
gardening
day
ever
close for handouts
my
confidante robin
late
watering
rising
from uncut lawns
clouds
of grass moths
anemones
each
one holds
a
fake bee
from
a distant ridge
another
cuckoo answers
clear
as a bell
habitat
small
turquoise beetle
at
home on
my hand
edgy
grey lags
with
young
I
avert my eyes
sun
dazzled horizon
converts
distant walkers
into
Lowrys
Lloyds
Bank
long
closed on its
door
the
pentacle
solace
of winter trees
each
scar born skywards
above
withered leaves
glitter
embedded
in
our
old oak table
middle
aged daughter’s
on
the side
of
my old level
“Dad’s
Spirit”
morning
sun highlights
snow
on rolling hills
down
the duvet
blowing
my nose
wind
wraps my face
in
the hanky
snared
by brambles
full
length on the mud
no
star in sight
Christmas
Day
in
the blue tit's beak
one
holly seed
I
leave the track
to
pick a way through
thickets
of thought
offshore
winds
heading
out to sea droves
of
thistle seeds
homeless
man
slowly
fills in
a
colouring book
half
moon
in
half light a chip
of
wren song
mowing
lawns
I
pass the cable
under
a web
bric
a brac
on
our dresser life’s
collection
worthless
village
car park
beneath
the fence
a
badger’s underpass
how
honeysuckle
so
often
strangles
its host
sleepless
night
pacing
dark corridors
guided
by stand-bys
when
a wren sings
its
whole body
becomes
throat
above
calm waves
the
sea hardly hears
itself
speak
garden
lies fallow
my
idle glance
at
unavoidable jobs
hot
evening
limp
pearlised waves
a
white sail becalmed
bird
bath
how
often a worm
swimming
foot
of the glen
a
couple of roaches
stamped
out
after
rains
woods
fill with sounds
of
rebuilding spiders
between
alder catkins
and
their reflections
a
turquoise flash
ginkgo
in the park
showers
gold onto
grey
squirrels
sea
fret full
of
crematorium smoke
shrouds
passers by
by
the monument
each
selfie smiles
at
impermanence
first
frost
ripples
silver
on
the pond
on
the window
a
spiders front legs
endlessly
weaving
autumn
work top
two
watches
out
of time
writing
haiku
how
often a substitute
word
is right
hillside
wind
speed measured
by
gossamer
a
haiku I carved
in
stone already
gathers
moss
dike
whirligigs
sparkling
wing cases collide
above
sticklebacks
from
gardens far
back
in
my old hat
band
gold
finch feathers
one
tea spoon
inherited
from Gran
stirs
memories
new
garden
leaving
it be
for
birds to return
new
pond
already
on its surface
rafts
of gnat eggs
sail
by date
anchors
rust by his bench
heart
still at sea
on
the levels
warblers
glean greenfly
from
hogweed
facing
mirrors
back
of my head
turned
to infinity
derelict
building
harts
tongue ferns
surround
the alarm
a
clouded yellow
flutters
across quivers
of
blue lobelia
bamboo
flicker
through
frosted glass
endless
prismatic joy
turning
compost
he
perches
to deliver
me
a note
is
the present
both
past and future
I
go back to bed
chirps
of sparrows
override
traffic bees
subliminal
hum
hounds
tooth violets
beneath
cow slips
hold
stillness down
squashed
banana
in
the road its ‘earth
friendly’
sticker
in
the empty
blackbird's
egg
a
small slug
a
Spanish lady
fades
into shingle,
around
islands of beet
Ellen
Terry’s house
we
put our acts on
for
the guide
joy
of sombre days
grey
green woods misty rain
a
perfect fit
our
new cul
de sac
in
a monkey puzzle
two
magpies
through
slate screes
on
supermarket slopes
underfed
trees
white
as sparrows skulls
bleached
snail shells
house
spring tails
barb-b-cue
area
ringed
by smells
of
wild garlic
wind
speed and time
gull’s
calculations to
land
on the tower
his
wife’s dementia
as
they arrive she thinks
they’re
leaving
my
snail’s pace
hares
have time
to
sit and stare
old
bridleway
now
impassable
understories
supermarket
lawn
a
magpie’s sheen
in
clover
agapanthus
globes
bees
pick their way
pole
to pole
infant
school
wild
crocuses
surround
the
olive
my
tentative steps
timed
with a herons
neck
through shallows
horse
sketched
in
urine on our shed door
the
old dog
fox
each
day I stare
at
patterns of soil to see
if
seed is viable
shadow
on the wall
a
blue tit returns
to
its tweets
doctor’s
verge
seas
of hawk bit ox eyes
and
kidney vetch
glistening
in ivy
a
grass snake’s eye
frozen
on mine
winter
pond
faint
ripples waver
the
kingfisher’s intent
