Seventeen Plates

Small poems. Room to breathe.

Seventeen little observations, set out like plates on a table. Take one. Stay a while. There is no hurry.

01 / Morning — Spring

Rain beads on the glass The kettle begins to sing Morning takes its time

02 / Plum branch — Spring

Plum buds hold the rain A small bird shakes the branch dry Spring falls at my feet

03 / Green shoots — Spring

Green shoots split the path Roots remember where to grow Stone gives way to leaves

04 / Open door — Spring

One cup on the sill Steam drifts through the open door No one calls it back

05 / Old fence — Spring

New leaves catch the light Even the old fence looks young Paint flakes in the grass

06 / Noon — Summer

Heat rests on the road Far off, a dog lifts its head Then goes back to sleep

07 / One peach — Summer

One peach in the bowl The sweet scent fills the whole room Late sun warms the skin

08 / Pine shade — Summer

Shade beneath the pine A cool wind moves through the grass Nothing needs to stay

09 / Shore — Summer

Salt dries on my hands The sea keeps the shape of waves Long past what I see

10 / Back step — Autumn

Leaves cross the back step No one knows which way they went Wind keeps its own notes

11 / Still life — Autumn

A pear on the shelf The soft bruise grows in the dark Sweetness has no clock

12 / Footsteps — Autumn

Footsteps stir the leaves The path gives back what it holds Gold clings to my shoes

13 / Dusk — Autumn

Smoke thins in the dusk The last light stays on the hill Then folds out of sight

14 / Blue bowl — Winter

Frost rims the blue bowl My thumb leaves a small clear moon Cold comes back at once

15 / Black wing — Winter

Snow fills the bird bath A black wing cuts through the white Then the world is still

16 / Home — Winter

The old house goes dark One warm lamp glows down the street I walk slowly home

17 / The table — Winter

An empty plate waits Light moves where the bread once lay There is room for more

Seventeen Plates is a small collection of original English haiku. Each poem follows the familiar five–seven–five rhythm: three lines, seventeen syllables, and just enough space to hold a moment.