Tanka- Burning Breath

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Burning Breath

Deadly red fingers

Licking it’s flammable prey,

Hot tendrils emerge.

Benightedness kindles it’s

Melody of ruination.

A force of nature,

It’s a contagious disease.

It’s unstoppable,

Natures injurious demon.

Fire, Hades of trouble.



Haiku Bombers: Sensitivity



 Flavours burst colour

Full of awesome energy.

Sweet, sour, bitter, fresh.


Curling wisps of scent.

Without this lustre in life

What would life be like?


 Whispers of legends,

harmonies of life itself,

We live to hear these.


 Talking brings us close,

Contact even closer still.

Emotions felt more.


History is made,

From what we see around us.

A life will seek sight.

Small But Not Weak

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A miniscule being,

With an excruciating punch.

A demonstration,

That the smallest,

Are not the weakest.


What brought the lion down?

A tiny thistle.

Buried in the king’s paw,

Caused so much pain,

and only an inch tall.


A small buzzy bee,

Looks as harmless as can be.

When it sights danger,

It rears its behind in protest,

And strikes in defence.


Haven’t posted for a few days because I’ve been away from my blog for easter. There’s a reason why I’m posting this poem, it’s because I was stung by a bloody bee today. This poem was written because of that bee, which caused my hand to swell up like a balloon. Mum insisted on taking me to the doctor, (I didn’t think it was necessary) we were there for 2 hours until we left. I left with some anti-inflammation pills and a sling, (which I can’t be bothered wearing.) So that’s my rant for the month, hope you enjoyed my poem.

Shackles Unseen

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Shackle Unseen

A silhouette of a tree,

The shackles not seen.

Prisoners not foretold,

Known to be free.


Bound by their roots,

Because their ancestors did not see.

The successors wait,

For human industries wrath.


Silent songs of plea they sing,

Not heard over the drone of ignorance.

Memories they all whisper,

One’s they have seen.


Once a giant on it’s own feet,

Now an outline of defeat.

So strong it had been,

But a fallen tree is what I see.

Passing The Torch


Old time is new time.

Your light is fading,

Soon it will not keep the torch alight.

As spring burns away winter’s sins,

The flowers begin to blossom.

Bringing with them new light.

Nature does not take pity.

Nothing will ever last.

It is the circe of life,

As your torch is passed.

By Sphrbn