Monday, September 17, 2007

Haiku it, fool!


An isolation junk
subway jostles these people
This city is mine

Cool rolling hills wake
In the misty mornings still
With no sign of sun

Wait in crowded markets
Fresh dates for sale, lamps to rub
Old carpets to ride. . .

Drumming of the soul
Stirs the feathers of eagles
Peyote smoke flies

Ancestor’s first home
From Sahara to Cape Hope
We will be there soon

Old red dynasty
Bamboo reeds float down Yangtze
paddies soak my feet

C.L. Halliburton

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