pleasing November sun
the porters rush in and out
I rest my legs on a bench

in the cold psychiatric ward
and the well-heated parliament
the same poem is read

in the livingroom
the t.v. set warms up quickly
my heart sinks slowly

the wintry sun warms my eyelashes
coarse squabbling turns to music
there are no mistakes, no regrets

in bed with a cold
I listen to the tranquil breathing
of my nervous dog

grey clouds bulging with rain
the silence of the dead yellow leaves
the raging of my heart

a bunch of
small red roses:
the poet’s protest

the magazine offers
infinite flow of new \ better
I smile at the grey clouds

celebs. have it all:
spending time in rehab.
or dead on the bedroom floor

clouds blanket the sky.
beyond, the “Forest of peace”
beyond that, concrete wall of separation*

*written while sitting on a bench on the Sherover promenade, Jerusalem.

I eat guilt
breakfast, lunch and suppertime –
perhaps that’s why I am so fat

backseat of a car
between Oxord and Reading
fiery-sky dusk

Mark Pollins

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/twelve-haiku-poems/