How come

Aren’t you smaller!?

You’re eating rotten apples!?

Hey, fieldfare, how come!?

On the spot

Jogging on the spot

In a skyscraper tumbling

Through an earthquake dream

Saturday morning:

Sitting in the armchair and

Thinking about God...

Bobcat in the park,

On an abandoned backhoe,

Written in English

Piscean morning…

The tick-tacking thump of piles

Driven into earth

Across the shoulder,

I see it from the armchair…

Moon in the window

Finally, they’re out:

As always, in the backyard…

Two little snowdrops

What?

What is a haiku?

A haiku is a haiku –

As simple as that

Bright winter weekend –

The big café is so full

Of little children

The waitress shows me

A red orange cut in two –

Valentine’s day gone

A neighbour’s fatso

Wooed by a huge cat turns out

To be a female

A scout exploring

The top of the dishwasher…?

Talking about ants

In the fireplace

The rising sun embraces

The unsteady flames

Just a puff of wind…

Changing the pattern of seeds

On the windowsill

Feel it

Eyes closed I feel it

Coming from behind a cloud

Into my cold room

Searching

In the small cellar…

Searching through the wooden crate

For rotten apples

The palm

Warm under my palm,

The handkerchiefs I iron…

Late winter evening

His head

On the balcony,

His head following the birds:

My aunt’s tabby cat

Windows

Through broken windows

The winter sun falls into

An old factory

Shining

A sidewalk café –

The shining chairs and tables

Stand in perfect rows

Rights

A blue graffiti:

‘Are the rights of a foetus

Above the woman’s?!’

Me first

My old-aged father…

Showing me the first crocus

In the flowerbed

Lost

Under a shield cap,

Lost in dazzling winter sun:

Mongoloid child

Late

It is getting warm:

The woman holds her baby…

Like my late cousin

This, too…

This, too, is winter:

It’s smiling on the sidewalk –

My little puddle

When I come closer…

When I come closer,

Its shadow begins to pale:

The budding cherry

Shadows of the fall

Shadows of tits fall

Into the kitchen corner…

Midwinter sunset

Jazz

Spring attempts at jazz:

Between my lips a primrose

Sounds like a trumpet

On the road

The kitchen window

View of the new traffic sign:

Wildlife on the road

Old

In midwinter rain,

Soaking wet on a park bench,

An old newspaper

Without

The morning is grey,

The rain is without colour,

The coffee is black

A different God

A hell of a place…

Yet, from a different angle,

Here is God’s plenty

A Saturday show

Shrove Saturday show:

After a sham fight drakes shake

Water from their tails

February rain…

The variations of tits

Come through the window

A bridge of secrets

A man sells his book

Of secrets of pyramids

On shoemakers’ bridge

On the riverside,

A crow stops for a moment

On a tall bare tree

My English teacher:

I learn of his epic life…

Now that he is dead

Lush Christmas cactus

Still blooming at the dentist’s –

First February