Unassuming Haiku Musings
St. Martin's pastors
St. Martin's pastors— Wharram Percy's ghosts once led flocks to this pasture.
Department
Seventeen syllables, give or take a grievance. Small observations pressed flat and dried — the red pen mid-bleed, the morning mid-thought, the indignity mid-stir. The form is ancient and the complaints are modern, which seems a fair trade. House rule: say the little thing exactly, count the syllables loosely, and end before the feeling overstays.
St. Martin's pastors— Wharram Percy's ghosts once led flocks to this pasture.
Company photos— all my pictures age poorly; best not to impose.
Twas simply stunning, electrifying—as one expects from a fence.
Soft, speak of lightning. I'd defer to Prospero above a groundling.