H  A  I  K  U     S  P  I  R  I  T
Bill Wyatt

even the bees
can't take it - curling up
in the summer heat

Thru distant hazy clouds
appears the heart of autumn -
October's full moon

The water flowing -
a white butterfly passes
not hearing a sound

Roadside dead squirrel
brought tears to my eyes -
or was it
the falling snow?

Wasp in my beer - now
that you are dead I return
you to the garden

Cricket in my bedroom -
is that my heart ticking away
in the night?

Evening sunset -
dandelion seeds tumbling
over fresh cut fields

First winter Redwing
in the garden - the shortest day
somehow seems so long

April's first cuckoo
coughing & cackling overhead
so soon out of sight


We live in the world as if in the sky

Just like a dream
a bubble - August waning moon
fills heart & sky


Spider on mothers
bedside table - I put him
out in the garden


Skylark ascending
as I scatter mothers ashes
around the roses


Robins autumn song -
how can he know the sadness
that lays on my heart


Clouds piling up -
feels like the end of summer
as I mow the lawns


transformed into a rose -
our garden the hearts desire

Bill Wyatt's mother Joan Darling Hudson died suddenly on Monday 25 August. She was aged 77 and very sprightly

Just for a moment
they came tumbling down
spring snowflakes

Sitting silently
doing nothing -
spring arrives all by itself

Now motherless
i forget to buy daffodils
on mother's day

morning meditation -
out of the blue, a swallow
pops into my mind

Night of endless rain -
how refreshing the sound
of the zazen bell

Morning service -
the snow on my zafu
was it a dream?

Afternoon zazen -
rain on the rooftops, in one ear
and out the other!

Stacking winter logs
i rescue a wolf spider
from a fiery end

On the telephone
a voice from the distant past -
early winter rain

Nothing to avoid
as late sunset falls behind
the pines & vast sky

Broken pine branch moon -
a robin starts to sing about
the season's first frost

Walking up the hill -
but no longer a burden
the clouds on my back

Still feeling homeless
I let the winter wind blow
away this sadness

Winter persimmons -
how they bring to mind the blush
of that first kiss

With the winter rain
a robin hopping - hopping
into endless dusk

Wind brings lonesome thoughts -
in the middle of the night
a poem comes to mind

(on my 58th birthday)

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