FIONA JANE ROSS
By Fiona Jane Ross ©
I write haiku poems that occasionally have more than one verse.
( I call them my haiku that grew )
I follow the tradition in that each of the verses has 3 lines and each line
is made up of five, seven, and five syllables respectively.
Here are a few of my poems from my book
‘Reptiles and the Art of Keeping Still – 100 Haiku poems.’
the natural world
THE SEA AT NIGHT
I sit here alone
Small waves steadily lapping
Soft black velvet sky.
Warm woollen blanket
Crisp powdery sand. Shining
Far above me. Stars!
CAT
Delicate ribcage.
Rich reverberating purr
Warm dense fur. Resting.
DNA
Twisting on itself
Life’s knowledge – conveyed in code
Along a zipper.
AUTUMN GOLD
Deciduous trees
Shedding leaves. Nature’s poignant
Aching loveliness.
REFLECTIONS
KEEP GOING!
Change is difficult
But necessary. Two steps
Forward. One step back.
HARMONY
Body, Mind, Spirit
Wholly inseparable
Health and illness, twins.
BLINDSPOT
Busy finding fault
These armchair psychologists
Fail to see their own.
THIS TOO SHALL PASS
Why was I upset?
Painful at the time… but now?
I can’t remember.
WHAT TIME IS IT?
Today’s my day off.
Why let numbers on a screen
Dictate my mindset.
Body-clock tells me
to rest and recuperate
Stay within my skin.
relationships
SITTING WITH MY ELDERLY MOTHER
Dear familiar hands.
Cooked, cleaned, nurtured. Cared for us.
Now they rest in mine.
ALONE AT THE BAR
Drinking and brooding
Nursing grievances. His past
Like a ball and chain.
THE SON AND HIS FATHER
Years… Yearning for words
of love and encouragement;
the son waits in vain.
sadness and loss
GRIEF
Bewildered and sad
The noise, the crowds, the bustle
All too much for me
I seek distraction
To shop away my sorrows
Ludicrous I know.
LOSS
Dishevelled by grief.
Appearances don’t matter.
I’m anonymous.
DYING
Like a dog scratching
Frantically at a closed door.
Railing against fate!
DEMENTIA
Today’s her birthday
Candles lit in her honour
Radiant. Twinkling.
She reaches to touch –
Sudden pain. Bewildered shock.
She sucks her fingers.
whimsy
MORNING RENDEZVOUS
Good Morning Dishes!
Piled high in the kitchen sink.
Hello Rubber Gloves.
Detergent. Tea-towel.
Each morning the same. We must
stop meeting like this.
Openon2 POETRY AND PROSE 