speaking Elvish
to the Dwarf King
Tolkein's phrasebook

through
Georgia O'Keefe's skull
the desert

Comment by Fay Aoyagi:
The last line is too close to the rest.   

Georgia O'Keefe's skull

I miss the warmth

of my old cat

Well...   I know this is not what you intend to write.    I tried to come up with a feeling of 'desert' or its withered feeling...   :<
****

My revisions:

through
          Georgia
                     O'Keefe's
                                   skull
                                          infinity...
****

Georgia O'Keefe's skull
staring up
at vapour trails

through the confessional screen
the priest's breath

Published (2020) Prune Juice Issue 30  

the silent roar of the waterfall

fried mushroom cloud cuckoo clock face time
****

stormy sea shore line up

battle axe head strong desire

Found haiku:

summer is fading
the leaves fall in ones and twos

From 'Afternoon' by Philip Larkin (2003) Collected Poems Faber, London page 115

On shallow slates the pigeons shift together

From ‘Pigeons’ by Philip Larkin (2003) Collected Poems Faber, London page 178

one more mince pie

I reach for Christmas

winter window

night melting

into evening

shore grass

shivering

light snow

mushroom harvest

before thunder

the road

through dandelion wind

the yellow dawn

beneath morning blossoms

only

whispers

Published (2020) Hedgerow 130 page 13

cicada summer

I dream

of an autumn journey

twelfth night

the street festooned 

with Christmas trees

in the quiet church

just the way

people walk

Commended (2020) UHTS AHA competition

Chinese characters

lost

in calligraphic thoughts

new ink bottle

waiting

for the words to come

****

empty ink bottle

no time left

to finish my story

late bottled vintage

just reflecting

burial or cremation

Published (2020) Poetry Pea Series 3 Episode 12: Ageing
Published (2020) The Poetry Pea Journal of haiku and senryu Summer page 49

taking longer

to reach the creaking step

my old dad

Published (2020) Blithe Spirit Volume 24 Number 5 page 42

demolition

the musty smell

of an old house

The dung heap quartet

fresh morning air

a light frosting

on the dung heap
****

a change in the weather

wisps of steam rising

from the dung heap

****

midsummer day

the hum of bluebottles

in the dung heap

****

the days get shorter

falling silent

the dung heap

cherry blossom

kamikaze petals

on their final mission

The uninhibited joy of the Chinese working class

line dancing

flute playing

dancing in formation

the public park trademark

of this unique nation

old men with caged birds

hanging in trees

children with grandmas

ready to please

slow joggers

limb smackers

backwards walkers

rice crackers

hacking and spitting

great gobbets of phlegm

no one seems to bother

they do it again

mobile phones

another selfie

too much smoking

never healthy

public toilets

easy to find

an awful stink

no one seems to mind

line dancing

flute playing

dancing in formation

the public park trademark

of this unique nation

two birds singing

a songbird

to a jailbird

a goods train

rumbling past
precisely reflecting my mood

blank headstones

jisie

yet to be written