night haikus

char eatwell

Coffee was the cause/of lying awake last night/and making haikus./Here are some haikus/without much point other than/their syllable count:/five syllables here/seven syllables down here/and then back to five./So what else goes in?/They can include a season,/also time of day,/and a cutting word/to change scene or interrupt/flow, like caesura./In bed, then, I think/of a textile artist friend/who keeps a red book,/h a i k u on the spine/and inside it are the ones/that she has put in./Her patchworks’ slotted/exactnesses play patterned/haikus with cloth,/and particular/greys and pinks are nouns, or the/volta of springtime./Vertical stripes of/ deck-chair-blue corduroy run/like verbs down a page./Her room is filled with/haikus: the red book between/calendar and clock,/each of her cushions/is also one, lined up in/coloured syllables.