Thursday, September 10, 2009

Early Morning Haiku


hammering next door
momentarily blocked out
by the garbage truck

14 comments:

Sidhe said...

Perfect! An instant literary treasure...

DaisyDeadhead said...

Yes, nice.

And I love your photos, always.

Brooks Hall said...

Nice! The beautiful and the mundane cohabitate... Perhaps sleepy eyes see visual beauty, and sacred auditory canals are transgressed by momentary chaos.

berenice said...

great to early morning, too, read your alluring words out of the troublesome of every day life, what a lovely Haiku Dr. Jay, and love the photo too!

human being said...

this made me think for a long time... very long time indeed...
i thought about all the louder noises in my life that have block out another noise...
noise or sound? was the block out good or bad?... hmmm... no judgement... no judgement ... just observe.. just observe... same thing happeing in this haiku... with that hidden irony and humor...

this is a fabulous work... that can only be created by a yogi...

namaste!

Lumen et Aperio said...

your ten words captured
the angst of urban living
i hear only tractors

:)

Eco Yogini said...

I agree with Lumen- so timely. Loved it. Mine would be include pressure washer dude and traffic. :)

roseanne said...

Perfect.

RB said...

This is totally brilliant--but also a kind of meditation. Don't we have to learn to be yogis in the real world? Profound!

LLnL said...

There's nothing like city living...

earthtoholly said...

To quote Billy Joel and Linda Ellerbee, and so it goes...

Love the fire in the sky, drjay.

Seeing Eye Chick said...

I thought this wasn't a political blog!

koe whitton-williams said...

I just love this. It reminds me of the time I lived in an apartment in Brookline, MA - young couples who shouldn't have married lived above and below my third floor flat.

it was:
bickering downstairs
momentarily blocked out
by screaming upstairs

I'd almost forgotten about the four of them. Eventually upstairs had a child and a few months later, upstairs he left. Wonder where we all are now.

Lana Gramlich said...

Unfortunately the poem brings back horrible, HORRIBLE memories of my 14 years as a vampire (working night shifts.) When do graveyard shifters get THEIR quiet time? (Answer; never.)