Haiku Book

Hello All,

I am bringing back the blog from its dust covered resting place and will eventually buy a web title for it. As of last Thursday I’ve been putting together a book of haiku. The plan is to have 108 haiku/senryu mixed with 4 haibun and an introduction. I might also add some chapters on Japanese poetry and notes to the poems. The ever wonderful Kiersty Boon has agreed to write a foreword for me. Thank you so much Narnie! You will find the book on Amazon Kindle and Lulu’s ebooks (Apple Store and Nook) by the end of the month and maybe a paperback print version too by the end of December. I’ll be working on a special hard back edition too if it is feasible. More to come soon, Will Crowbourne

One Day

Exploring new tracks,
My hands are running blind,
With my lips kissing.
I am finding my own way
To your satisfaction.

Love & Books

This is a tanka written last year and posted on an old blog under the name W.F. Tyrman.

Raise a mighty tome
As my ever lasting tomb,
Through sheaths i roam,
Searching for feelings unknown,
And hearts, unbroken by me.

August Haiku

Sideways/slanted rain

Falling on set aside stone,

A wall pulled apart.

 

 

Arms looping a loop

Under pitter patter shells,

Walking into town.

Stick A Needle In Me And Take A Sample

Stick your needle in me,

Draw off some blood

And send it to a doctor.

Tell me,

Am I on some Ivory high?

Did my cat go meow meow?

Cos,

Let me tell you this,

I woke up this morning

Checked my blog

And found out something startling.

Woke up this morning

And found my poetry shite

Is being referred to

By some Obama-sex-scandal site.

So, I gotta be on something

Cos even blinking away my dew-eyes

Don’t chage a thing.

I gotta be on something!

No Time For Idle Moments

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Calling me a busy bee

With those distant lips

Makes my soul skip its beat

And go wobbly kneed.

Those humble words

Whistle through the gaps

Turning me inside and out

As I patch over the black holes

With ego-duck tape,

Hoping you won’t notice

Those constant feelings inside.

This is where my bluster lies.

A Tilt Of Your Hat

A Tilt Of Your Hat

A tilt of your hat,
And to you sir,
I’ll doff my cap
For, of poets admired,
There were but three,
And there always shall be.

Our scribbling pens joined
At a café’s orchid room,
On virtual pages,
Through mists and rages
We created new worlds,
Internal prisms of fluid inspiration.

Your words lived,
And breathed.
You, sir, lived,
If no more
And with sadness
We’ll come to our own terms,
But your work,
Shall always shine bright.

So tilt your hat sir,
Take a bow,
And tilt your hat.

By Wulfstan Crumble
Dedicated to Paul Squires.