pleasing November sun <br />the porters rush in and out <br />I rest my legs on a bench <br /> <br />in the cold psychiatric ward <br />and the well-heated parliament <br />the same poem is read <br /> <br />in the livingroom <br />the t.v. set warms up quickly <br />my heart sinks slowly <br /> <br />the wintry sun warms my eyelashes <br />coarse squabbling turns to music <br />there are no mistakes, no regrets <br /> <br />in bed with a cold <br />I listen to the tranquil breathing <br />of my nervous dog <br /> <br />grey clouds bulging with rain <br />the silence of the dead yellow leaves <br />the raging of my heart <br /> <br />a bunch of <br />small red roses: <br />the poet’s protest <br /> <br />the magazine offers <br />infinite flow of new \ better <br />I smile at the grey clouds <br /> <br />celebs. have it all: <br />spending time in rehab. <br />or dead on the bedroom floor <br /> <br />clouds blanket the sky. <br />beyond, the “Forest of peace” <br />beyond that, concrete wall of separation* <br /> <br />*written while sitting on a bench on the Sherover promenade, Jerusalem. <br /> <br />I eat guilt <br />breakfast, lunch and suppertime – <br />perhaps that’s why I am so fat <br /> <br />backseat of a car <br />between Oxord and Reading <br />fiery-sky dusk<br /><br />Mark Pollins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/twelve-haiku-poems/
