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a snail slumbers

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  • robert wilson
    slumbering snail . . . if only yesterday had waited i saw you standing in line this afternoon at the post office . . . winter came too fast! waiting for me
    Message 1 of 3 , Jan 1, 2007
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      slumbering snail . . .
      if only yesterday
      had waited


      i saw you
      standing in line this
      afternoon
      at the post office . . .
      winter came too fast!


      waiting for me
      with yesterday, a
      snail blowing words


      i talk to
      you night after night
      catfish . . .
      and still this
      gentle tugging


      i too sleep
      alone in winter,
      brother cricket


      i stir the
      the new year in a
      cup of coffee,
      plucking words from
      clumps of cloud


      returning dawn
      to the moon . . .
      cherry, blossoms!


      to be a
      butterfly again . . .
      wintering
      in dreams, waiting
      to unveil myself


      your sandals,
      moon, sewn
      of cloud


      clouds swim
      upstream into autumn's
      mouth, leaving
      me to reinvent
      what could have been


      sunrise . . .
      a deer bowing
      to blossoms


      alone in
      his shell to dream,
      what will snail
      write when the clouds
      form words made of leaf?


      include me in
      your dream, marmot . . .
      i'm lonely


      the haiku
      you'll write, snail,
      when words
      inside you burst
      into stars


      in the morning,
      dew drops scented
      with you


      new year's eve
      a middle aged man
      sketching spain on
      the bathroom wall
      with miles davis


      new year's eve . . .
      an old man painting thoughts
      on his window


      celebrating
      the new year on my
      back reading
      kijo's haiku
      in a whisper


      reeds in winter . . .
      a heron listening
      to herself breathe


      in his loneliness,
      the bay mocks him with
      giggles of light


      even darkness
      can't discolor the clouds . . .
      a long winter


      even in
      darkness, the clouds
      misbehave


      new year's morning . . .
      my shadow beats me
      to the restroom!


      the walls, this
      evening, spray painted
      with winter


      your seed, this
      morning tree, in a
      damp tomorrow


      robert d. wilson
    • LaaRouge@aol.com
      Thanks for the New Year s smile, Robert. This one tickled me... Carol new year s morning . . . my shadow beats me to the restroom! slumbering snail . . . if
      Message 2 of 3 , Jan 1, 2007
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        Thanks for the New Year's smile, Robert.
        This one tickled me...

        Carol

        new year's morning . . .
        my shadow beats me
        to the restroom!



        slumbering snail . . .
        if only yesterday
        had waited

        i saw you
        standing in line this
        afternoon
        at the post office . . .
        winter came too fast!

        waiting for me
        with yesterday, a
        snail blowing words

        i talk to
        you night after night
        catfish . . .
        and still this
        gentle tugging

        i too sleep
        alone in winter,
        brother cricket

        i stir the
        the new year in a
        cup of coffee,
        plucking words from
        clumps of cloud

        returning dawn
        to the moon . . .
        cherry, blossoms!

        to be a
        butterfly again . . .
        wintering
        in dreams, waiting
        to unveil myself

        your sandals,
        moon, sewn
        of cloud

        clouds swim
        upstream into autumn's
        mouth, leaving
        me to reinvent
        what could have been

        sunrise . . .
        a deer bowing
        to blossoms

        alone in
        his shell to dream,
        what will snail
        write when the clouds
        form words made of leaf?

        include me in
        your dream, marmot . . .
        i'm lonely

        the haiku
        you'll write, snail,
        when words
        inside you burst
        into stars

        in the morning,
        dew drops scented
        with you

        new year's eve
        a middle aged man
        sketching spain on
        the bathroom wall
        with miles davis

        new year's eve . . .
        an old man painting thoughts
        on his window

        celebrating
        the new year on my
        back reading
        kijo's haiku
        in a whisper

        reeds in winter . . .
        a heron listening
        to herself breathe

        in his loneliness,
        the bay mocks him with
        giggles of light

        even darkness
        can't discolor the clouds . . .
        a long winter

        even in
        darkness, the clouds
        misbehave

        new year's morning . . .
        my shadow beats me
        to the restroom!

        the walls, this
        evening, spray painted
        with winter

        your seed, this
        morning tree, in a
        damp tomorrow

        robert d. wilson




        [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
      • janet l. d.
        Very enjoyable read. I like the snail theme running (or creeping, whatever snails do) through this. The one Carol points out below tickles me too. I also am
        Message 3 of 3 , Jan 1, 2007
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          Very enjoyable read. I like the snail theme running (or creeping,
          whatever snails do) through this. The one Carol points out below
          tickles me too. I also am particularly fond of the butterfly one and
          this one:

          new year's eve
          a middle aged man
          sketching spain on
          the bathroom wall
          with miles davis

          --janet



          --- In Tanka@yahoogroups.com, LaaRouge@... wrote:
          >
          > Thanks for the New Year's smile, Robert.
          > This one tickled me...
          >
          > Carol
          >
          > new year's morning . . .
          > my shadow beats me
          > to the restroom!
          >
          >
          >
          > slumbering snail . . .
          > if only yesterday
          > had waited
          >
          > i saw you
          > standing in line this
          > afternoon
          > at the post office . . .
          > winter came too fast!
          >
          > waiting for me
          > with yesterday, a
          > snail blowing words
          >
          > i talk to
          > you night after night
          > catfish . . .
          > and still this
          > gentle tugging
          >
          > i too sleep
          > alone in winter,
          > brother cricket
          >
          > i stir the
          > the new year in a
          > cup of coffee,
          > plucking words from
          > clumps of cloud
          >
          > returning dawn
          > to the moon . . .
          > cherry, blossoms!
          >
          > to be a
          > butterfly again . . .
          > wintering
          > in dreams, waiting
          > to unveil myself
          >
          > your sandals,
          > moon, sewn
          > of cloud
          >
          > clouds swim
          > upstream into autumn's
          > mouth, leaving
          > me to reinvent
          > what could have been
          >
          > sunrise . . .
          > a deer bowing
          > to blossoms
          >
          > alone in
          > his shell to dream,
          > what will snail
          > write when the clouds
          > form words made of leaf?
          >
          > include me in
          > your dream, marmot . . .
          > i'm lonely
          >
          > the haiku
          > you'll write, snail,
          > when words
          > inside you burst
          > into stars
          >
          > in the morning,
          > dew drops scented
          > with you
          >
          > new year's eve
          > a middle aged man
          > sketching spain on
          > the bathroom wall
          > with miles davis
          >
          > new year's eve . . .
          > an old man painting thoughts
          > on his window
          >
          > celebrating
          > the new year on my
          > back reading
          > kijo's haiku
          > in a whisper
          >
          > reeds in winter . . .
          > a heron listening
          > to herself breathe
          >
          > in his loneliness,
          > the bay mocks him with
          > giggles of light
          >
          > even darkness
          > can't discolor the clouds . . .
          > a long winter
          >
          > even in
          > darkness, the clouds
          > misbehave
          >
          > new year's morning . . .
          > my shadow beats me
          > to the restroom!
          >
          > the walls, this
          > evening, spray painted
          > with winter
          >
          > your seed, this
          > morning tree, in a
          > damp tomorrow
          >
          > robert d. wilson
          >
          >
          >
          >
          > [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
          >
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