a crow caws
standing on a stout post
black eye watching
a child wonders,
beyond this rainy valley,
is it white?
nothing scurries
but mushrooms sprout
wet forest floor
lonely bus stop
one man waits for a nearly
empty bus
streaks of blue
viewed through cloudy skies
a bird hops
the !n(tro)verted yogi
nomadic, poetic, and sometimes ascetic
All good. My favorite is the first. That last line is like a punch (in the eye). We don’t see it coming, and that’s the best haiku.
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