Random Haiku

Scary night creature

Whispering hidden gospels

Falling on deaf ears

Man of Death

1

His hand slid into mine,
The feel of each bony finger
Cut, pierced and rumbled my soul
The Man of Death has answered my call.

The atmosphere was surreal,
His presence was enormous,
The tiled floor began to fold;
The Man of Death was walking.

“Why choose death?” he asked of me,
His chilly voice was full of power.
My window churned and turned
Into a dark, steel portal.

“Life” I said “Is hardly kind,
I give, give and give – it’s all I do
And for no real purpose.
I’m simply sick of caring.”

He looked at me grimly,
Eyes of fire burning, cape of darkness flaming
His voice came to me, a chilly whisper
“There are better reasons to die.”

The intensity of his voice
Watered down my resolve,
My hands took to shaking.
The Man of Death walked me to the portal.



2

The rocky cliff taunted my feet,
The world in view an ocean;
Waves came rocketing at the base.
The Man of Death was watching.

On top of the cliff sat a large rock,
On which the Man of Death perched.
The waves were blasting at a blink,
The cliff was slowly fading.

My feet took to walking,
Until I too was sitting.
The Man of Death stared blindly
As the waves exploded faster.

The foaming water folded and collapsed,
Battering down the seemingly solid cliff.
Half had vanished, the other hovered;
The cliff now a floating island.

“What’s the purpose of this?”
My voice was full of frustration,
Amazing as it was to see a cliff battered,
It still seemed like a fruitless journey.

The water pounded like a drum,
The cliff was all but vanished,
Everything was gone – transformed.
The cliff had become a grainy beach.

3

His finger began to twitch,
The world began to morph,
A golden dirt path lay underfoot,
An overcast of trees surrounding.

“Walk” he screeched, like a banshee.
As we walked the trees became blacker,
The ground began to crumble;
The further we got, the worse it got.

Stumps!
Stumps!
Stumps!
All the trees had become - Stumps!

“Why is the world so black?” I questioned,
“Why does all the good turn black?”
“Walk” he said, and so I did;
The Man of Death followed.

Further along the golden dirt a sapling grew,
Further still a young tree was growing.
The black became brown,
The brown became green.

We stopped beneath one towering tree;
A bird above us chirping,
Looking up we could see
A nest made for its younglings.

4

“Look into my eyes” he grunted,
The small black holes a vortex;
My body warped and twisted through,
Until there was naught but nothing.

The world around me an empty canvas,
A brush appearing in hand,
“Paint your perfect world” he snickered,
So I took to painting.

All of my hopes,
All of my dreams,
I splattered them on with white,
The Man of Death watched, thinking.

White on white just didn’t work.
I needed to add some colour.
Hopes are not yellow, or blue or red,
But a clear white canvas was – nothing.

The ground I painted a murky grey,
The grass a watery red,
The sky I painted a strong black,
The base of all was white.

The Man of Death grasped my hand,
His bony arms were protruding.
The canvas began to melt and mould,
Back into my room.

5

The Man of Death left me here,
My call had not been answered.
The Man of Death he left me here,
And I am thankful for it.

The Mimic (Poem)

The pendulum moves, swishing and swooping
It always has the same reaction.
It’s a prisoner of action.
Cycling back and forth in time, never stopping.
Time is a bicycle, a wheel that’s spinning.
It goes round and round - never giving.

The hands of the clock tick past,
Slowly sneaking from seconds into minutes.
Time is a cycle and we are in it.
The hands of the clock tick fast,
Gracefully greeting minutes into hours.
Twenty four ends, back to the first hour.

Sailing in at low tide,
The water calm and cool.
Heart beat low; a resting fool.
Washed away by high tide,
The water pounds treacherously high.
The end of the cycle draws nigh.

The Earth revolves around the Sun,
The Sun around the Milky Way.
Our resolve begins to sway.
The wheel keeps spinning – never done.
One year gone. A new one starts,
Time the yo-yo sparks the heart.

As the pendulum swings as do we,
As the clock ticks so do we,
As the tides change, as the Earth revolves,
As time changes, so does our resolve.
Our life is a cycle of moods, like the panoramic
Time –The Mimic.

Hourglass (Poem)

Running towards the edge,
Watching you wave
Goodbye.
The hourglass flips,
Time to move on; time to start
Again.
Our hands part, as do our lips;
Our souls diverge into nothing.
Love is a harsh game – Time
Wasted.

Locked inside a room,
Crying.
Praying.
Hoping.
Love is rarely fair,
But we creep forward
Believing
The hourglass may flip back.
And we may end up running,
Back to something beautiful.