NE63 Haiku

Chirping and singing  Warming light casts over us The whistle awaits

Whistle ringing loud Off-white clouds blanket the sky Pride bursts from my chest There was a familiar feel to the morning. A 10am kick off under an off-white sky, clouds stretched out overhead while the wind came and went in bursts. It felt like good football weather. Coming into the game, it carried a bit of weight. First one back after last week’s defeat, and for the opening 20 minutes, it showed. The lads didn’t quite look themselves. A little off it, a little slow to settle. But they found their way into it. We went 1–0 up after 12 minutes. A solid start. Three minutes later, the opposition pulled it back. Then not long after, they went ahead, making it 2–1. It felt like one of those games that could drift away if we let it. Right before half time, we found the equaliser. 2–2 going into the break. The game felt intense. Not frantic, just heavy with importance. At half time, it wasn’t about tearing into them — just staying positive, encouraging them to trust themselves and put the w...

Cherry blossoms bloom Old church waits in silence still I linger between There wasn’t much of a plan for the walk. Just time to fill while Cooper was getting groomed, a chance to get some steps in and move a little. Walking through Morpeth, I passed St George's URC Church and slowed without really thinking about it. A cherry blossom tree stood outside, fully in bloom. Bright, soft, new. It caught the eye straight away. The church beside it felt the opposite. Still. Weathered. Waiting. It wasn’t cold, not really. That in-between kind of air — warm enough for a hoodie, but not quite ready for a t-shirt. That same in-between feeling seemed to settle in my thoughts, too. Standing there, I found myself drifting a little. Where am I at the minute? Am I actually healing? Am I moving forward, or just staying busy? Where was I six months ago compared to now? No clear answers came, but it didn’t feel urgent to find them. Just standing there, between something old and something new, felt enou...

Air foggy and cool Clock tick tock tick tocks slowly Tired bloated body There’s a strange stillness that comes with a first night shift. Not silence exactly—machines hum, footsteps echo, tasks keep stacking up—but something in the air feels paused, like the world outside has taken a breath and forgotten to let it go. Tonight, the fog has settled in thick and low. It wraps itself around everything, softening edges, muting distance. Even through the windows, you can feel it—cool, heavy, unmoving. It matches the way my mind feels. Not sharp, not clear. Just… there. It’s my first night shift, and time isn’t behaving the way it normally does. The work is steady, demanding even, yet the clock drags its feet. Each minute seems to stretch, as if it’s resisting being counted. Tick, tock. Tick… tock. The rhythm is there, but it feels off-beat, like it’s out of sync with everything else. My body isn’t helping much either. There’s a weight to it tonight. Bloated, sluggish, tired in that deep, quie...

Days getting warmer Clear blue stretching overhead Cooper runs ahead There are walks that feel routine, and then there are walks that quietly reset something inside you. This was one of the latter. The days are finally beginning to warm, the kind of warmth that doesn’t demand attention but gently reminds you that the seasons are shifting. The sky was clear and wide, a clean blue expanse with nothing pressing down, nothing urgent. Just space. Cooper felt it before I did. From the moment we set off, he was pulling ahead with purpose, running into the walk rather than through it. That familiar tension on the lead wasn’t frustration — it was joy. Momentum. A dog fully present in the moment. We covered just over four kilometres in an hour, a steady, refreshing pace that gave my thoughts room to stretch out and loosen. The air felt lighter, my body moved more easily, and for once, I wasn’t watching the clock or carrying the weight of the previous days. This haiku came from that simple rhythm...

Forty three days rain   Colour drains from the skyline   Breath steadies again By 12 February 2026, it had rained for forty-three days here in the UK. Not always heavy, not always storming — just persistent. Grey skies stretch on long enough that you stop expecting anything different. Today, the weather felt like it had settled somewhere inside me. An anxiety attack came on quietly, without a clear reason. I’ve learned not to search too hard for one. Sometimes they arrive because I’m tired. Sometimes, because I’m fighting off illness. Sometimes, because my nervous system simply decides it’s time. The sharp pain in my chest is the part that always gets my attention. It’s sudden and convincing. Even knowing what it is, it still feels urgent. I use the breathing I’ve practised — 4-7-8 — and ground myself through the five senses. Slowly, steadily, it passes. The rain outside has been constant this winter. The colour seems drained from pavements and skies alike. But just ...

Sunlight evades me Days pass in half-sleeped shadow Spring waits at the door The world follows a steady rhythm of sun and stars, but for a shift worker, those lines often blur. Working 12-hour stretches in the lab means my relationship with daylight is complicated. In the winter months, I often head into a shift in the dark and emerge long after the sun has tucked itself away. It’s a strange, liminal existence—living in the gaps while the rest of the world is awake. I wrote this haiku to capture that heavy, quiet fatigue of the "in-between" There is a specific kind of exhaustion that comes with the night shift, a "half-sleeped shadow" where you’re physically present but your internal clock is searching for a sun it can't find. But as the weeks progress, I’m looking toward the threshold. "Spring waits at the door" is my reminder that the cycle is turning. I’m ready for the mornings where the sun beats me to the car, and the evenings where the light ling...

Rain licks windows Dawn has yet to break morning Ringing in my ear Early morning before the school run has its own kind of calm. The house still, the day not yet asking anything. Rain tapped at the windows while winter held on outside. I’m still fighting off a cold — that low, constant hum in the background — but this morning felt different. Not better exactly, just steadier. Yesterday was a stressful one. Too much noise, too many thoughts. Today feels like a pause after that — a reset before the rhythm of the day begins again. This haiku came from that quiet space. Rain, waiting light, and the small reminders that the body carries even when the world feels momentarily at rest.