The Cats of Copenhagen

copyright issue
for greedy cats of Dublin.
Fuck the Joyce estate.

James Joyce (2 February 1882 – 13 January 1941)

Surpr_eye_se

Resisting the frost
some hollyhocks of Seanhenge
blooming in winter

Sieh da, sieh da!

This morning at nine
hundreds of cranes passed Seanhenge.
Winter's coming. Late.

Friday is Skyday

Morning Encounter:
Winterly Magnolia,
The Moon and Venus

Kisstree

Lots of mistletoes
to tenderly kiss under.
Just get the feeling.

My Walden . . .

Where I used to walk

as long as my legs let me.

I am still grateful.

Late beauty

End of October
vanessa atalanta
taking a sun-bath.

On the Road

Bales in morning mist
on my way back with warm rolls
for Sunday breakfast.

On the Road

Mary is long dead.
Her castle's still a landmark.
Batteries refilled.

A Walden of mine

What chaos you think?
A pleasure for all senses!
A Walden of mine.

Entry lane

House martins are back.
Busy with feeing their brood
while I am writing.

Laughing Lhursday *

What does one not do
just to please one's granddaughter.
Ah, to see her smile.

 

* [For first time visitors]:

Typo in the title?
Nah.
It's just that I would not let a tiny T spoil an avantgardistic alliteration.

"Multitasking"

Offering shadow

plus sweet, delicious cherries –

multitasking tree.

Laughing Lhursday*

Ha ha ha ha ha:
Poppy without bumble-bee.
Blame the shutter lag.

* [For first time visitors]:

Typo in the title?
Nah.
It's just that I would not let a tiny T spoil an avantgardistic alliteration.

Those were the Days

Seven Fishermen.
Playboys of the Western World?
Perhaps Synge could tell.

Little Feet

Feet that soon will run
fast and faster . . . oh so fast.
How I love these feet.

Friday is Skyday

The frogs are croaking.
Refugees dying somewhere.
Beautiful sunset.

Monochrome Monday

Missed you. Where've you been?
There'd be a lot to tell.
Anyway, you're back.

Snowball

You make the fire
and I'll show you something wonderful
a ball of snow

Du mach' Feuer,
und ich werd' Dir was Schönes zeigen:
einen Ball aus Schnee.

Matsuo Bashō

13

No one's been kissing
under all the mistletoes.
Just ask the chimney.