Trees lit up in town,
glowing distant relics of
some ancient Christmas.

Sunshine warms one cheek,
a north wind chills the other –
my smile joins them up.

Leaving town at five,
we are overtaken by
faster cars and night.

The taxi drives on
before I can see what her
camera's framing.

Hey, I can do that,
says the wind to the thunder,
tumbling backyard bins.

The sky is shouting –
this plane and its trail make the
exclamation mark!

Clock's testimony
of dawn can't be heard until
sun corroborates.

While I type haiku,
flickers from the TV screen
cross your sleeping face.

The man in the pub
calls to the artist in me –
still life, with a pint.

Amber streetlights strewn
through the grey-blue cityscape:
the palette of now.

Drinking breakfast tea
as the radio strikes eight:
gulp, pip, gulp, pip, gulp

Postman's tapping hand
on a door across the road,
double-glazed silent.