I Know They Mean Something

The yellow lines on the winding road
Are a civil engineer’s idea of Morse code
With their dashes and dots of varying size
Conveying a message I cannot surmise
Without calculating the antinode,
And that’s just a pain on the eyes.

I’m the south side of the hill

I’m just a sugar rush, a placebo pill,
I’m a fly buzzing up against the window sill,
I’m a giddy crush and a sudden thrill,
I’m the sudden hush and the after still.

Again.

Lather, rinse, lather, rinse:
Fall into the cyclic pattern,
Ring around the realm of Saturn.
Lather, rinse, lather, rinse.
Go to work. Go to bed.
Go on green. Stop on red.
Lather, rinse, lather, rinse:
An artist without audience.

Routine Stop

Time waits for the bus
Like any other mortal,
Though he’s never late.

For: http://haiku-heights.blogspot.com/

He Bled Red

Cold blood,
Red blood, blue clothes:
Ice cold blooded murder!
Pooled red blood, his pulse has gone cold,
So cold.

Only Elite Belong

Fifty decades long
Of bearing what’s wrong:
Repeat.
Time with Viet Cong
In the old Saigon:
The heat–
Until skin and song,
Deeper still he’s strong:
Eat, eat.

Startling Scene at the Library

Five black birds in an old dead tree:
One flew off when the branch broke free.
Now if this was meant metaphorically
Which would be you, and which would be me?
But since this occurred quite literally
We don’t have to worry about that.

A Separation

They parted ways in silence to keep the tears in check:
No long goodbyes, no kisses, no hugs around the neck.
They fought away the feeling that they’d never meet again,
For never is a long time without any time between.

Faiku Haiku

Exhibit A:

   I                                     II                           III
books                     phones              the sky
on shelf                can call                blue
library                    people               love

He chose to break the rules that poets follow,
Insisting that instead he play the master.
He said the old poems were hard to swallow,
He wrote his own haiku but wrote them faster,
He said their meaning lay within their hollow,
But everyone else knew him poetaster.

Astraphobia

“Let’s pretend that I’m the mother,
Let’s pretend that you’re the baby,
Let’s pretend you’re scared of thunder—
That wasn’t thunder was it?”  “Maybe.”
The pretense stops with thunder clap,
Or else the mom’s in baby’s lap.

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