Being there

The loud ibises flap
the dusk breeze,
cackling their hadeda call.
House sparrows hop
on the grey tar.
I’m waiting for the wagtails
to come, to settle in the trees:
they roost here at night.

As do I.

From across the road
the elderly come
for the Wednesday special:
couples, or small groups,
to have a night away
from their old age home.

As do I.

After a hot day
the clouds are out,
slowly, slowly drawing
the light from the sky.
This evening, ah, the cool breeze,
the late afternoon draught
makes peace with the moment,
calming the coming dark.

As do I.

- Brian Walter

But, at least

On the rocks again,
doing what I must do.

Feeling the breeze,
my consciousness open

– like the wings of the cormorant,
whose feathers the warm morning wind is drying
with tenderness today.

There is no sun,
clouds have wrapped the sky
into a silken, pale grey shawl.

While I sit, with my silver pen,
on the blue rock, feeling
neither bright nor shiny, but,
at least, writing.

– Silke Heiss, 12th January 2023

Haiku

There: mating. Quickly.
Two grey pigeons on that ledge.
Wing-flaps – down. Preening.

***

With little to say
I do more haiku now:
wish you were alive.

(for Katherine Samuelowicz)

- Brian Walter

Blue rocks

What can you teach me?

Yield
– to the shapings of the weather,

breathe in
the mist,

shake your consciousness
like the cormorant his wings.

– Silke Heiss, 10th January 2023