We dash like sprinters
for the train that's replatformed,
due in twelve minutes

Murky brown canal,
glimpsed from the replacement bus –
faster than the bus

Friday night at home;
my sixth sense declares that my
friends are having fun

Flowerheads dipping
to the ground, as if depressed,
weighted down by bees

Three competing bees
rummage through azaleas
looking for a key

On the coach windows
rain smears the midnight street lamps
like neon butter

After the play-off,
smell of rain on hot tarmac,
the smell of defeat

How my baby cries
at my in-laws' attention.
How I want to cry

Their most poignant time –
in a Saturday shopfront,
unsold bridal gowns

Stars are alkaline,
the horizon acidic,
on a litmus sky

Spread across far hills,
the city way back there is
just distant clamour

Clink of cutlery,
pie and gravy in the pub,
sound of happiness

Smiling perfectly
from the window of the bus
to an unseen friend

Damp shapes on the ground;
showers stop and start all day,
returning like fears

If a pub opens
and no-one is there to drink,
does it make a sound?

Saturday's quiet,
just the birds and the click of
the hair straightener

Haiku every day –
one thing that it isn't for
is posterity

All four passengers
pass the journey quietly,
look up at ringtones

For once, no portents:
we'll let this rainy day be
just a rainy day

Cards on windowsills
remind the passer-by that
all days are birthdays

If the trees could think,
in this chilly wind, they'd think
"autumn already?"

Football in the pub,
the big game experience –
fans clapping the screen

City in the clouds,
leave off the awesome while I
make a cup of tea

Weather swings between
sunshine, wind and heavy rain;
likewise, baby's mood

The back of my hand
reminds me of my dad's hand,
makes me see his face

Are they poplar trees,
bending in the wind, or just
suburban clichés?

Between the clouds and
my window pane, the raindrops
merge into a mist

The breeze blows stronger,
makes heavier the shower
of cherry blossom

Nestled in my head
like fragile eggs in a bag:
six lovely haiku

Train the other way
out of sight as quickly as
yesterday's haiku

These could be showers
and sun, or we could be trapped
behind waterfalls