My panniers full of birds

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Bright winter
My empty panniers full
Of painted pigeons

I was stopping off to admire Streatham Hill Station from the road bridge above. I took this picture of people going to work.

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The day before I actually took the train to work. It was a very cold morning but bright with a sky of cream porridge.

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I’ve been trying to write some haiku alongside the pictures

Meeting in the church
One head and then another
Turns to watch the mouse

Cut flowers
In the light of candles
Aladin Sane

In the night
Her gentle breathing
And far flung limbs

In the morning
A tangle of golden hair
Wrapped in a duvet

Yesterday in Haiku

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Tried some haiku this morning because I haven’t for a while and think it is a good practice.

It’s really difficult to get that special moment or as Cartier Bresson called it ‘ that decisive moment’.   But I do think it can help if you can write like a photographer. By that I mean is only describe what you see. Of course as a writer you can also put down what you hear, feel, and smell; use all the senses just don’t start interrupting,  explaining …

One last thought. It doesn’t have to be perfect. These aren’t.  I think one is quite good. Bit of a numbers game.

Oh and seeing as I’m talking pictures I thought I’d pop one in up top for colour.

Yesterda in Haiku

Gerald the cat
In his large saucer eyes
A questioning

Standing on the edge
Of a rippling pool
Waving not swimming

The banter
Flying back and forth
In the handball game

Cold water
There’s a bite
To the old girl’s massage

In the cubicle
A fresh old face
Talks temperature

After a cold swim
Taking the top seat
In the hot sauna

In the cafe clamour
The smell of burning toast
Diverts the chatter

The art of being
Sitting inside the mind
Of the home maker

A peace of Bach
And then with wine and beer
Sad songs of Rebetika