Add it to the list:
wind whipped, broad hipped, loose hatted –
dwellings you covet.

Shuttered sentinels,
in candy coats, stand wind-licked
over Solent’s arc.

Stencilled letters, the
rivets bleed on bossy sign.
She makes good her hut.

Journey’s pause to think,
twiddle thumbs, regret mistakes.
Lifespan separates.

Drawn to what we saw,
with dreams of being canoe
we tried to escape.

Tethered on foreshore;
reminders of tidal pull.
Cars can’t swim so well.

Cantering shoeless,
away from regulations.
We cannot return.

Last to cross the line.
Left to contemplate new life
as velvet sea horse.

marble drapes won’t warm
but radiator gurgles
to hippo’s relief

On astroturf waves
we sail for greener pastures
with cherub’s blessings

Sap insinuates,
so neighbours must creosote
the wood for the tree.

Bars keep spirits in.
Cheeks pressed cold on frosted glass
spy war dead next door.

Sipping chamomile,
outside, tanks nibble the kerb:
I see dead people.

Spooktastic rashers,
zombie pork chops midnight haunt.
Meat-eaters beware.

With stitched strategy,
hoarding, we pad praying knees.
Outside, acorns fall.

Arms in winter sleeves,
empty lap embrace ghosts of
ordinary folk.

Warblington flint framed,
William Palmer, upended
in Dream Topping waves.Sea soup explosions,
squealing feet trip on pebbles.
Cargo beast slips by.

Hotter than July
tethered lilos cuneiform
shoal of tern billows

Gull toes in shingle,
moody bass suck crusty pier
beneath summer hues

Two girls wirlitzing,
churned to near hysteria.
I hear their hormones. 

Great six-legged duck
circles lake, shadows lengthen.
Come in number 10

Low down and dusty,
considered warned, I plunder
suppressing a sneeze.
Through museum’s lens
bird’s-eye view of childhood teas
needs daily dusting

Bonne Baguette parses
new heritage trail debate:
muff in or muff out?

South coast small towns pass,
patient muffins and stale news.
Time to follow track.

Ghosts in gloves peruse
the laminated menu.
Window condensates.

Shell survives, just rust
ampersand left high and dry
in backwater lot

fibreglass hull melts,
dunked font rewriting who rules
waves, what rocks, who’s boss

Dog–boat sniffs the day,
across harbour island winks
as tide slips to sea

moss green astrakhan,
the stream’s dank Langstone wriggle
to where old coats wait.

Introducing the Havku: a Havant-inspired haiku/photo ping-pong with Jane Shepherd. (It reads bottom to top…)


4 Responses to Havku

  1. Carmel says:

    Top Hav-cooing. The harbour master one was my favourite. I feel I want to go there now. Thank you.

  2. theamcm says:

    beautiful yet again – particularly interested in the knitted bench cardigan – you would want it to be a bench you revisited a lot.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s