back in the saddle

Well, all you haiku-beats, i know that, whenever you have gathered together, on hilltops or riversides, the question inevitable arises "Where's Richie's rich works?", or something like that. As was once said, a rose being a rose, so, here I am with another pail of poems milked from the haiku-moos curding away in the bowers of Kansai. How could I resist so long, staying away from you all? I, too, wonder. No excuse. Then, let's to it.

late, cold and dark, no moon, stars;
I and some crow tumble
thru this air seeking our nests.

a cry high above, one bird, circling,
seeking its nest in
this clueless night.

this silent, serene sunset;
winter winds also stop
to gaze on it.

here a breast, there a breast,
what fun it is
to keep abreast of the news.

a yellow tinkle in the snow;
cold school boys can't wait
to get home.