The hammock sways its windblown lullaby,
But like Odysseus we ignore its siren song:
A tiny violin plays all our dreams goodbye
And screeches that the optimist was wrong.
We wrap our heads in blankets and pretend we cannot hear—
What mosquito thoughts are biting on your ear?

I Still Insist So

Girl in a Snowstorm

Kids sledding with smiles
And adults shoveling say
This weather’s snow good!

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

That’s Not Flying

Today it is gorgeous outside, a balmy 65 degrees and it’s still early morning.  While waiting for my class to begin I wandered out to the balcony-type landing overlooking the side of the mountain.  Anxieties of the near-future uncertainties were snatched up and put on hold.  I took in the birdsong and the dancing trees in the mellow breeze.  (Breezes aren’t always mellow, but this one was particularly so.)  As my eyes traveled down the trunks of the closest trees I noticed a gardener down below, diligently weeding.  It was Silas, a fellow poet.  I looked around for something to throw, to voice where I was.  Someone had left a cup of ice cream which had solidified into a sticky lump around the spoon.  I picked it up, brushing ants off my hand, and tossed it in his direction.  Startled, he looked suspiciously up at the windows above him.  I frantically waved until he saw me and waved back.  Satisfied, I retired to a nearby bench.  Thought thunder struck—a flashback to reading Poe’s The Pit and the Pendulum in a cozy room at night.  Me: reading aloud.  You: interpreting verbose prose into rudimentary phrases.  And through a synthesis of all those events I wrote this simple verse:

Grove Cove

I look to the woods
In the shade– inhale
Of the forest metropolis Lub Dub
Walks a lovely maiden Lub–Lub
And a friend Lub Dub, Lub Dub
I watch this sylvan scene– exhale
Through my telescope

Rather Fetching

Trying to work alchemy on these rough cinder blocks
Tempered decoration that’s experimental at best
Hydrochloric acid mixed with sulfates failed the test
Resulting only in some rather messy looking rocks

One Single Couplet

For the odd one out this math equation isn’t any fun

Hard Pressed

Photo by Claire Anthony

Treasure in clay jars
Excellency not of us
Urn your salvation

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

Don’t Misinterpret Me

It is something that will never occur
In my life
Without the aid of a gun

More than Luck

Courtney, are you made of glass?
You must be; you’re my twin
Picked to be from all the mass
The nearest of all kin

Begin Again

Where to begin
one two three
lead by example
dies the fire
New york times
hope for the future
will to live
arise and shine

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Because Russ L asked

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