African Haiku

People who know me are aware that for the past seven months or so I've been a fountain of haiku, a short poetic form that consists of three lines, with 5, 7, and 5 syllables respectively. I've written a few since we left the States and I thought maybe I'd share them here. Ignore them if you wish!

Morning over the

African plain, too high to

see more than the clouds.

Riding south on the

African plane, my heart feels

open, my eyes too.

Date doesn’t matter

nor the time nor direction--

just that I found home

I need the music--

the walking and the singing,

clapping in my soul.

I cannot claim it.

Africa is not my own,

but I wish it were.

In my heart I’m dark

skinned, and bright, hopeful, patient,

singing on this road.

Rain falls as blessing.

The sound is like hands clapping.

The birds sing louder.

She flutters her wings.

She is as thankful for the

rain as the sunshine.

The source of the green

is the blue sky and grey clouds

reaching down to earth.

Thunder promised rain.

This time it proved not fickle,

kept its strong, loud word.