Not the stars. I go out to see the night's midnight blue and the deep, empty spaces in between - the parting of our fingertips - inhabited by our loss. One life is only as close to the next as the stars appear to us; as if we could measure it between our finger and our thumb. #poetry

In the morning, mist. Let tears speak for themselves. October, breathing. #haiku

All my Bluesky #poetry #micropoetry and #haiku from September 2025 johnnorthwrites.blogspot.com/2025/10/poet...

Starless nights - instead we open books, bibles, poems; become constellations in the λόγος, and ἀμήν, and in the ἀμήν, λόγος. Amen. #tanka #micropoetry

Mary, Mother of God, oil paint over chipped gesso, fading resin, eyes raised praying for the roof of Cumbrian slate that it might not cave in; for the sandstone plinth that it might not give way beneath her feet; that when it fails we will go to pray on the hills and that I will take her with me.

Still and quiet, God, the stars on a clear night - Christ watching the sea. #haiku

Tell me all the shades of blue when twilight fades from pale sky, to slate grey, to ocean-deep dog howl #micropoetry #poetry

Hush... rain after the drought's buzzsawing insect hatred - the still small voice. #haiku #micropoetry

first light of morning decorating the hawthorn ribbons of wrenflight

migrating geese pulling the stars back home autumn equinox #haiku #DailyHaikuPrompt

This morning's first frost of autumn and a fallen horse chestnut out of its shell peeling back a layer of the exhaustion of life's sickness and graft, sickness and graft. #micropoetry

church entrance the empty vessel of a beggar #SenryuSunday #senryu #3lines #micropoetry

I would rather let the wine fall like rain to the ground than live a life always cupping my hands. #micropoetry

Galileo Galilei The Pleiades from 'Sidereus Nuncius' (Starry Messenger), 1610

Drawings of the Moon by Galileo Galilei, 1610

Hope. Small things like the wood mouse we found in the house and took to live amongst the bluebells. #micropoetry

“The truth is that writing is the profound pleasure and being read the superficial.” — Virginia Woolf

Time to celebrate September's Harvest Moon! I know we've all worked so hard this year so let's take some time to gather the fruits of our labor and give gratitude to the Mother. Hail Corn Moon. Haiku by @tregallery.com and Thomas. #haiku #poetry #illustration #cornmoon #harvestmoon

Rubbing lavender flowers against the nape of your neck is my heart #haiku

Full moon so bright I can read the label on your bottle of beer #haiku

Leaf reflecting moon - night sky cherry tree mirror of sky, of tree ... #haiku

The concept of speech alien to God; the Book a graveyard of trees. #haiku

And outside, dusk. The sound of a hundred hands turning page after page is the cattle in the field feeding nightly with worn teeth. And more distant still, chewing their own cud, artic HGVs dumbly reciting the arterial highway's prayer. And inside- inside deeper still- the illiterate cry to god.

Not the stars. I go out to see the night's midnight blue and the deep, empty spaces in between - the parting of our fingertips - inhabited by our loss. One life is only as close to the next as the stars appear to us; as if we could measure it between our finger and our thumb. #poetry

You are in a small clearing in a well marked forest path that extends to the east and west.

Update #81496 from █████ ███████ ██ (USAP) 1. Rotten Runestone Armory 2. Valley of Mysterious Tractors 3. Strange Bridge

Little magician, the bairn summons plums and pears for his grandparents. #haiku

Moonlight; ochoko - the bruise of saké paler than the bright black eye. #haiku

Fall in the woodshed, reading Wolverine comics, smoking cigarettes. #haiku

the other side of a blackbird’s song this broken world #blueskyrelay #song

learning to become no one firefly - Deborah A. Bennett Whiptail: Journal of the Single-Line Poem, Issue 4

first frost- the grass holds its own stars #haiku #poetry

Beans growing up canes. This life, short as a haiku. Structure in all things. #haiku

that summer of starless poems tobacco flowers silver velvet lone moth adrift #writemap 365 (drift) #micropoetry

My cat hunts a mouse that I can see, still, between logs on the front porch. #haiku

Drifting pappus seed - Qu Yuan's Lament. Cry of buzzard and chorus of leafsong in September breeze. Steaming in the cup, Xiao Yao San. A touch of sunlight and the soft kiss of air. #micropoetry

All my Bluesky #poetry #micropoetry and #haiku from August 2025 johnnorthwrites.blogspot.com/2025/09/poet...

cloudless sky a billboard asks if I'm going to heaven

All That is Lost I keep asking the sky but it does not know what questions are each day rises and then forgets I walk into the air and it closes behind me without a seam all that is lost remains somewhere without us #poetry

end of summer / last of august

Garden path of sweet evening chimney smoke; inside, mingling steam, simmering chicken soup on the woodstove top. The days we need healing, we at least know we're living. #poetry #micropoetry

Unnoticed in t'field, some cattle among t'dock weeds - rural poverty. #haiku

Sunlight. Bone-ache. Bleary-eyed recommencing of the clock. As we age we grow closer to stone. Work-weary. World-weary. Still, this morning there is a soft wind through the branches of the plum tree. Tea. Guqin song. At the moment of waking, we are children. As-Salaatu Khayrun min an-nawm. #poetry

gale warning the oak trees become sentient #vss365

You jolted her awake: challenging her to live every minute left to her, to burst into flower like a cactus in the desert. from 'Ode to Parkinson's' Opening poem in a wonderful new pamphlet by Vicki Feaver 'The Yellow Kite' (Mariscat Press) on life with #parkinsons

Mary, Mother of God, oil paint over chipped gesso, fading resin, eyes raised praying for the roof of Cumbrian slate that it might not cave in; for the sandstone plinth that it might not give way beneath her feet; that when it fails we will go to pray on the hills and that I will take her with me.

#SycamoreGap in autumn iii. / The dark Satanic mills. Chainsaw. Bastard. The illiteracy of hate. #micropoetry

#SycamoreGap in autumn ii. / Our sycamore, our angel of the north. #micropoetry

#SycamoreGap in autumn i. / For all our academic talk of literary geography and landscape art; for all our well-put-together metaphors of season - now just a gap in the heart. #micropoetry #poetry

Late August Washing Line, all the pegs have flown south for the winter