Five, seven, five
Five syllables, then seven syllables, then five syllables.
Short line, long line, short line.
Sometimes describing nature, or a feeling, or maybe a situation.
Call them haiku, or senryū or whatever you like.
They’re a moment.
Deceptively strong
The kitesurfer’s blade cuts through
Lalique glass water
They dared not step in
In case the floor couldn’t hold
The weight of their dreams
Sunset residue
Clings to a cloud’s filthy face
Still stained come morning
Hibiscus unfurls
Stretches sci-fi tongue skyward
To taste the June blue
White air, spray-painted
Wings beating the lake to foam
Mute, reborn, pristine
29%
Doesn’t seem like much dry land
When it rains like this
Dirty yellow air
Streetlights thickening soup
Road’s edge uncertain