I’ve been blogging less than two years and thoroughly enjoy the community. I like the diversity and camaraderie in a supportive, encouraging environment. The sharing of ideas, creativity, and passions inform, entertain, and cause me to think. The challenges of creating, developing, and publishing ignite and inspire me. In blogging, I believe I’ve found a hobby to pursue in my retirement, whenever that may be.

I’m still trying to find my voice, my niche, my lane. I don’t feel I can honestly write about the place I work while drawing a salary. Away from work, I’m an aging multi-sport athlete who likes coffee. Writing about these two passions narrows the audience considerably. At the risk of totally alienating a modest band of followers, I am dropping a creative bomb. Running Haiku.

My apologies to poets and other literary types who I’m fixin’ to offend. Yes, fixin’ to. I’ve been putting observations into words while running. With a very limited attention span and a bit more caffeine than recommended, I stumbled upon the Haiku. Not in its pure form, merely the structure. I count the beats with each plodding step. Five syllables, followed by seven, then five more and I’m done.

Without further explanation or disclaimers, here is the first installment of Running Haiku.

ghost runner ahead
now behind me in the glass
looks a lot like me

Christmas morning run
pink clouds paint cyan skies
welcoming the dawn

bare trees silhouette
a sky of gradient blue
winter morning joy

Thank you for indulging me as I share thoughts that should probably never leave my head. My running pace is slow enough to allow for observation and development of ideas. Then the word play helps the time and miles pass. Cycling is too fast and I must stay focused on the road as crashing really hurts. The scenery never changes as I swim so I tend to repeat the same monotonous poem.

stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, breath
stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, breath, flip turn
stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, breath

Well, that’s quite enough for now. Other attempts may be published in the future or perhaps submitted to a terrible poetry contest somewhere in the blogsphere.