Cracked limestone. From the gaping eye, a green shoot.

scent of white lilacs against the blue of nowhere a transparent moon

Same daydream— incense, plum blossom, woman, moon, fox scat.

Fox watching fools write poetry.

Mouse cannot find a way. Turns around.

Cherry tree in shade – regret?

The closing eye begins to dream – a glimpse of sudden gold: the mustard seed. Its branches grow immense, creaking inside the skull; it sends its roots down deep past tongue and blossoming lungs into the sleeping heart. The dreamer awakes.

This wide balcony, itself larger than most castles, overlooks the Great Hall. Banners and pennants are draped from the railing into the hall below, which can be reached via the wide stair. A passage leads off to the south.

Taken from a lovely rendering of the Lord's Prayer via Aramaic by Neil Douglas-Klotz O Birther! Father-Mother of the Cosmos, focus your light within us — make it useful. /1

Oh, I just saw that this became a haiku sequence with Jim Young @oyoguhito.bsky.social and there are so many good ones from each of them!

in my lifetime earthshine has grown brighter -- the cat's still hungry #senryu #haiku

细草微风岸 危樯独夜舟 星垂平野阔 月涌大江流 Fine grass on the wind-brushed bank; a lone night boat beneath its towering mast. Stars hang low over the widening plain; the moon wells up with the great river’s flow. From Written While Travelling at Night, by Du Fu, 8th century Tang dynasty poet.

Centre of its world, child – Moon reaching up, Jupiter reaching down.

tasting the night air tender curve of a snail’s horn this little white moon

Above the mountains, no bird in flight. Old man in a bamboo hat fishing the river of snow. After Liu Zongyuan, Tang dynasty poet 千山鸟飞绝 万径人踪灭 孤舟蓑笠翁 独钓寒江雪

Stars. A grandfather's smile. The last frost.

Iron Bodhisattva — she touches a finger to my tongue and teaches it starlight.

Sitting in the sun room, where I can keep an eye on lemon balm, pumpkin, green bean seedlings & the stars. Drinking a cup of Yunnan black tea, listening to just about anything from Jordi Savall and reading a book, Civil War: The Wars of The Three Kingdoms 1638-1660, by Trevor Royle. Sunday night 🙏

Raw work, no way to avoid it; the joyful roar and mess of being alive. In short bursts of back pain and childish glee, I wield a chainsaw the wild way a child wields a Bible. It's a prayer for self-sufficiency and a witness to the brutal efficiency of man when he gets to work, the woodshed in April.

Imagine that you can fold into a moment, breathe silence, hold time. #haiku

All my #bluesky #poetry February/March 2026 johnnorthwrites.blogspot.com/2026/04/poet...

Suddenly, curlew song rising: strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.

Still your lip on mine. * Black leather jacket. * Yellow silk. Softer: you. * Dark wood. Skin. * Strands of hair on white pillow. * Air — open window. Night breathes.

Moonlight has its own gravity, holding stone, branch, your hand against the sky becoming moonlight.

So you leave yourself and become the space in between us. A shimmer, a breath, an instinct, a thought — in every space, an angel in the corner of my eye. Someone could speak you back into existence, but I cannot. This self is silence where words do not — you, me, God, the moon, a wedding ring.

Full moon. White tea pours through the window in climbing blossom — the old pane with its own currents. Music somewhere.

Dawn. Plum blossom: white silk in the wind — the last snow and spring. After Wang Zhenbai, 9th Century Tang dynasty poet 靓妆才罢粉痕新， 迨晓风回散玉尘。 若遣有情应怅望， 已兼残雪又兼春。

Plum and cherry spring blossom – a wedding day. [[Photos from the herb garden]]

Last night I fell asleep to the dulcet tones of Eberhard Stanjek's German commentary on Cruyff's Ajax v Bayern Munich in the European Cup quarter final first leg from 7 March 1973.

Before my bed, the bright moonlight— I take it for frost upon the ground. I lift my head and watch the moon; I lower it and think of home. 床前明月光 疑是地上霜 舉頭望明月 低頭思故鄉 Li Bai, Tang Dynasty poet (8th Century)

these early spring stars shining like blackthorn petals before they blink out

time lingers in the shifting mountains plum rains #haiku

forgiveness in the stillness of dawn spring rain #haiku

I literally forgot about this amazing little correspondence. Seven years ago! I'm not sure what the fact I forgot about it says about me, but here it is so I remember in future!

Living between two motorway junctions, he sees everything as traffic. #haiku

Rain draws the road up. Glistening, tarmacadam swims in stars, gutters. #haiku

Pine tree holding snow. It does not balance or lift. Effortlessly is. #haiku

Scuttling – the hosepipe across gravel, in the dark; hungry, the frost, hunting. #haiku

In the first cup's steam, what do you see? Tealeaves breathe depths of non-doing. #haiku

lazy spring brook the days stretching as long as a heron’s wings #haiku #DailyHaikuPrompt (long day)

angry buzzing at the kitchen window first wasp of spring a blackbird sings but my friend talks of the end of days a mother talks of evil in this world baby sleeps on her belly a blackbird sings the mouths of red tulips wide open spring evening in a stagnant pond gull feathers drift

Feeling amazingly grateful today having found a home for not only our herbal teas at Natures Health Store, but also our books at The Hedgehog Bookshop, both of course right here in Penrith, Cumbria

Having rediscovered Babylon 5 AND Space Precinct, my return to childhood is complete. If anyone needs me I'll be right here in 1996. Page me.

Spring sunshine, spring rain, and spring birdsong, even in the wet evening half- light, light embryonic — spring joy, it is joy, spring joy. #tanka

this morning from the hedge a bird called once so clearly the sound stayed longer in the gray air as though the morning had not decided yet whether to keep it or let it pass into whatever comes next #poetry

In spring the cry of buzzards spirals upwards, the song of hunting each other once more like just-fledged juveniles. Blossom reaches up to the chanting sky as everything grows, becomes mountain. Old cairn listens to the fells breathe, slow as the world turns sure as the ploughed earth.

My poem 'Theriac' in Southword 27 (2015)

A new verse from returning contributor Tiffany Rindler: 𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀 𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗼𝗰𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝗮𝘀𝘁 so you learn to live with the tick the slug carve moonlight from a shredded cloth — Tiffany Rindler

I am not a poem I am a child I see every tiny world #haiku