2016年02月10日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 199th. week

Tapping, until the water is boiling, free time for a kitten.
On two days ago, with her hips bare, having cleaned the house.
On the one of her areolae, a few ... three drops of, to dip and have dipped.
To drain my glass of, you only knows (however God), it is.
Backrests of the chairs, the plots of poor movies only, remember.

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2016年02月03日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 198th. week

A tea leaf floating erect, such a hassle in a garden, only shears is there.
Her black hairs, to stride over and go, Ants do.
In winter being in bloom, same colour in blood, flowers of crimson.
A lip, to draw and add, as a harelip.
A Mercedes-Benz, a black car, running to be banked, as a tricycle.

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2016年01月27日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 197th. week

Of her own hairs, To be crushed by the weight, a yuki-onna is.
At the komomaki, to ask my mother's whereabout, I have visited.
The Ships have returned, the days lovers never have met, goodbye to say.
Not yet snowing, without making hot sake, only having to wait for.
On your eyes, to paint thin black ink over, and put on three stars.

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2016年01月20日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 196th. week

Anything is flying lowly away as it has be.
The once in a month, even if a snow day it will tomorrow, a parasol is suitable for me,
To feel about under, wondering where your fingers are there, I make a mistake.
The gate to press or to knock, not knowing when to give up, one hour or more it takes.
Losing a finger, a bloody song, singing along.

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2016年01月13日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 195th. week

Your cheek, to have forgotten, too having no time.
A box of sushi, hang by drawstring, just as drunken. Or, a box of sushi, hang by drawstring, suitable for me.
Waiting for five minutes, just to make excuse, cause needless offense.
A toad, to apply on her secret zone, a piece of plasters.
Of an ink‐cake to be ground, only a drop, bleeding yours is.

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2016年01月06日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 194th. week

At the first making love for the year, not yet having come, next new year has come.
In this trench, at the bottom of swamp, a bible book has been there.
At the root of a ceiling joist, sitting and relaxing, anxiety is there.
For the a maiden painting, colour like blackened curry, to paint her hairs.
A travelling rug, for wrapping around the necks, a few people are there.

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2015年12月30日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 193rd. week

Characters "H", as "Shishi Shincyu no Mushi" (it means a snake in his bosom), to be filled with.
Of a pilferage, on his upper lip, three inch long it is.
At a crossing, stepping on the white center line, go to hell I must.
Be spoiled, male chorus of three parts sounds, by fermata.
A defeated general should have talked of this Christmas.

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2015年12月23日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 192nd. week

Hey master, calling him, my back to be talked about behind.
In the last days of this year, out of my character in spite of, blues I sing.
From left and right, far and wide, husband and wife perform stand-up comedy (like Ike and Tina Turner).
Two goat tell, a lie as to have seen, and a lie as to have worn.
A preceding visitor tells us, after you, to examination table.

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2015年12月16日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 191st. week

In spite of have good handwriting, three days late to, a dunning letter I have.
To have broken wind, behind my door, someone at the urinal. Or, to have broken wind, behind my door, morning glory has.
Dimly something is, on a honey bucket, standing alone. Or, blankly something is, on a honey bucket, standing alone.
To duet with her, just for form's sake, to have an affair with.
On the Yamanote Line, by December's rain, to make two more rounds.

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2015年12月09日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 190th. week

Staying up late at night, an Russian girl is, how carring herself easily.
A lap blanket is, to leave behaind his one leg, going away.
Next to a bobbin, a piece of disposable chopsticks there is, motive power for the toy tank.
Under the torii ants tow lion-dog's whisker.
Never mind to put on my shoulder, my kaimaki, a cotton padded nightwear, however no sake.

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2015年12月02日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 189th. week

Under a stomach band as chest armour, how many are there, iron plates.
For her curled hairs, to match colours, to make vain efforts.
To be spilt open the belly, to be told by a toad, an oracle is.
Because of no dust, too much time on their hands have, at the third “Tori no ichi”.
On the noon in winter, a clock has stopped, six hours it has been.

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2015年11月25日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 188th. week

With the help of my umbrella as a stick, evening has come, Sphinx says.
To body temperature, in stead of warming sake, elderly woman slipping off.
This December has come, too late it's now, to watch out for fire they call.
To become a swan, don't think so, for a child of the duck.
To be exposed to the rain, in the season camellia sasanqua blooms, it's a ruined like me.

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2015年11月18日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 187th. week

In the center of, our child stay there, to become the cause of a bug it may be.
At his sickbed, under the pillow, charging it is.
A few thousand yen, in a box after dinner, a milestone stands.
Be bashful the look, to peel off her face, salt it by squeezing.
Beside a bumping post, ribs there, and offering of rose flowers.

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2015年11月11日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 186th. week

Still there she is, in my mirror, a girl I dislike.
A hand gripping something, what he stares, and being frightened.
What you say, the happiness you want, a lie they says.
Of his children's, under the heaviness, a frog gives away. Or, of his children's, under the heaviness, to give away like an frog.
And sweat and suffer, for escape from reality, are same as to be born. Or, and sweat and phrase, for escape from reality, are same as to be born.

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2015年11月04日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 185th. week

A mantis has standen ready for, On the watering can.
Signals on the traffic, although going in and out, to wait in vain.
The way I came and, to turn back, to come off rails go. Or, the way I came and, to turn back, to go off on a tangent.
Three of asterisks, to line up, it will go.
Missing to hit on, to have no sense of crisis, a horse neighs.

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2015年10月28日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 184th. week

By your black haired, to make a ridge, has been too bright.
To comb your hairs, to time if I have, to graze your finger I do.
Blows cold wintry wind, a woman in mortal fate, suffering her joy.
Hanging down, and beating the drums, to flatter and fawn on. Or, at informal interview by them, beating the drums, to flatter and fawn on.
For road mirage, to chase and lost his way, so crying and weeping.

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2015年10月21日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 183rd. week

To get bored with each other, from the radio, the sounds of Bacharach we can.
Rain lets up after, on a windscreen, to be stained with in red.
By my right hand, to grip the uncomfortable, and hesitate to say.
At second anniversary of her death, to be at sixes and sevens, busy for dish-washing.
After Sunday, being busy, Monday comes. Or, on Sunday, a busy mother has been busy, on Monday.

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2015年10月14日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 182nd. week

An onion to peel, to do as, your hair I treat.
A bird in a cage, to peer thorough, into the sky he can fly.
Unlock be difficult to do, beyond her black teeth, tongue in red there is.
A woman chews, to act out of spite, a tuft of her own hair.
Hiss the sound from, to be done at no time, the kettle of hot water boiled.

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2015年10月07日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days,the 181st. week

On the mainland, never ending grudge, to wander about. Or, on the mainland, boundless expanse of, his grudge wandering about.
The doll does, to open her mouth, "Mummy, I do" only speaking.
Numbers of falling my tests, to count now, two years for me.
The crane fly if he did, to spread out his legs, to reach the book I could.
For the body of his, waiting with her grudge, at the rest room.

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2015年09月30日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 180th. week

With the wife as the back door man, showing the back view, a mechanical fan is.
At Suminoe, to be ride isn't it, a triple circle. Or, on the ink wash painting, to be ride isn't it, a triple circle by red.
To untie obi, about your sphincter to loosen, the time has come.
To raise his head like a serpent, with this sousaphone, I fight.
Of A Fukusuke-doll, In the shine on the forehead, feces of flies are there.

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