“Alright, which one of you samurais chopped the moon?”

The lines go by with varied speed,
The skylines treed
Then bare again
Like winter kin.

New Year’s Revolutions

Release the hounds and shoot the mortars high–
Loud explosions signal war;
Innocents die evermore.

Ecce Moneta

Photo by Claire Anthony

Take your oil, your diamonds, and gold;
They’re shiny but come at great price.
The struggle for money is old:
Men would kill for one extra pice.

Happy Holidays

‘Tis the season to
Wish you Merry Christmas
And Happy New Year!

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

D/M pression

He closed his eyes and saw–
She had a hole in her chest
Where her leaden heart had grown too heavy
For the iron bars that tried to cage it in;
She had cotton in her mouth
Muffling her cries for help,
Making her feel voiceless;
She was thinner
Than a fat-free thin mint bitten in half,
Making her feel invisible.

Green Friday

While the hordes took to the urban sprawl,
Suburban war-zones and dangerous mall,
We fled to the country, a rural retreat–
Down back roads and dirt-paved street;
We stopped at a rustic wooded farm
And left with pine in supersacerdotal arm.

Farm Life

We sat in the back of the pickup truck
Where the air felt crisp and cold and living;
At the top of the hill we jumped the gate–
The hinges groaned, but they stood forgiving
And the bull just grazed as we skirted by,
Not getting too close, just close enough
To leave some feed and a new salt lick
And a silly face, to prove we were tough.

Get Thee To a Nursery

There’s nothing worse than newborn moms
Who dote on college men as sons
Most infantile as if their own,
Who chide and chafe with stern reproof
And worries wither to their root,
Who think that there’s no difference
Betwixt young men and young infants:
Go to, go to, young mother dear;
Your baby boy is not found here.

Photo by Eliana Anthony

 

For: http://dversepoets.com/

The Ripple Effect

The music poured out of the piano in waves
Each one splashing louder on the damp floor
Flooding the basement
And filling our heads with rain
That pounded down the long sidewalks of our brains
Washing them white as snow.

Photo by Claire Anthony

emoH (Back home)

A family is a rhythm is a beat:
A pounding of their clan’s clandestine drum;
Every moral has a story incomplete,
Every map records the area where it’s from.

Photo by Claire Anthony