Christmas Haikus

Nothing mesmerizes the heart so deeply as nature during the twelve holy days and nights of Christmas. If you listen well and look you see your own innermost feelings walking abroad each day. They are carried in the flight of a bird and its song, in the mystery of the slumbering trees, in the gigantic wind which may choose at any moment to sift your soul for truth.

Each day takes its own strides and each night carries you into eternally hidden places. It's not for nothing that the dreams of the twelve nights are considered to be prophetic. For, just as your own feelings are walking abroad in nature during this time, the cosmos with its stars and secrets is spiralling through you.

The haiku, with its seventeen syllables, may seem like a very slight poetic form for capturing the mood of each of the twelve days and night of Christmas. But it is precisely this form which best understands the transposing of outer and inner taking place at this time. At its best the haiku can be a perfect balance of nature and insight.

I'm not saying my haikus are the best. They may be more or less successful. But they are conscientious and I tried very hard to make that effort of sifting each day. The blackbird is the greater artist. Unfortunately I missed two days so what we have here is the ten haikus of Christmas instead of the twelve.. (Note: the plural of haiku is properly haiku. I’ve also diverged from the stricter Japanese forms.)

Christmas Haikus

A soft coat of wind, tree-lined

sun; blackbird sings my heart

across the air.

A vast wind, tiny

solace; there are angels

in the threads of my coat.

As many raindrops as notes of birdsong;

my ears are tumbling with sky.

Grey-lit sun, miles of sky;

alone a small bird

touches lips with the wind.

Under a thickness of clouds, alone;

the night-bell rings out three -

who comes?

Naked trees

smile

in their sleep;

the birds

bring meat and drink

to their table.

In dead of night I search for soul;

frozen wind clasps only flesh and bone.

Night opens. Stars pour in.

Wind and rain shine

as dreams in clear sky will do.

A sifting wind. Feelings

adrift in the night.

Great storms shift

in their sleep.

Wind-carved trees,

solemn as gods.

What poet gave such gold

to your swift limbs?

Jay

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