inter-city train journey –
a rattling window top
shuts itself
Published by
Alan Summers
Alan's haiku and poetry is published in over 60 anthologies, and a number of languages. He regularly reads, performs, and workshops from venues as diverse as possible including shop windows; inner city rainforests; cliff tops; to the more orthodox places...on occasion. His website is: http://www.withwords.org.uk
Contact: alan at withwords dot org dot uk
View all posts by Alan Summers
This haiku brought immediate memories of the ride on the Circumvisuviano inner-city ‘train’ that runs between Naples and Sorrento. We have knicknammed it the bone-rattler. You must have ridden it to come up with these words.
summer breeze
a quiet house
bursting at the seams
widow’s death
her bamboo bell rattles
through the night
lost & found
grandma’s wedding ring
with loose stone
This haiku brought immediate memories of the ride on the Circumvisuviano inner-city ‘train’ that runs between Naples and Sorrento. We have knicknammed it the bone-rattler. You must have ridden it to come up with these words.
neighbor’s death, behind locked doors –
summer breeze
through open windows
So many ways to see (or be) that window. Speaks very much of city living. An excellent poem!
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Thanks for all the kind comments and complementary haiku!
all my best,
Alan
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Thanks for this powerful Haiku Alan.
crowded train~
through the maze of faces
a distant smile~
train rattles on~
stink from the toilet
people drink coffee~
train corridor~
ugly old beggar
covers his face
with a dirty cloth~
bonsai tree
on the cliff
overlooking the clouds
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inter-city train journey –
a rattling window top
shuts itself
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rainy day journey
through my bedroom window
the setting sun seems down
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Dear Bob,
Thank you for your bedroom window haiku which, alongside all the above train haiku, reminded me of my sleeper train haiku, so here it is!
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the night train passes
along the mountain trail
garlic snores
Alan Summers
le train de nuit passe
sur une voie de montagne
ronflements d’ail
(French trans. Serge Tome – Temps Libre)
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Alan Summers
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morning rain
i think of father’s voice
until it stops
Dear Prado Chekov,
A very moving haiku. It’s open enough so I get my own response from it, and reminds me of my haiku that I wrote after my Father’s funeral.
the rain
almost a friend
this funeral
Alan Summers
beneath the underpass
stalled morning commute–
one, no two dark pigeons