Haiku for a bad day...

Fuck it

I can't be bothered
to count syllables

If I Could Be Anywhere

I'd jump into my calendar's panoramic photo
Of the Ménara Pavillion.
I would make my way to the edge of the balcony
Of the sandstone structure
On the edge of a square-acre pool
In Marakech.

The hem of my turquoise linen gandora
Will graze around my bare feet
As the warm breeze plays with my hair
And melts the frost of winter away
From my heart, my bones, my blood
In Marakech.

My eyes drink in the blues and purples of the sky and water
The incongruity of palm trees and pine
My toes soak up the heat of the stones
As I descend the stairs to dip them
In the mountain's waters
Of Marakech.

I'll learn the language
And use my tongue to
Speak and taste
Foriegn things
And bend my neck to listen close
In Marakech.

For now I keep my back to the window
And the brutality of winter
I Swallow pride
I Feign interest
I daydream
Of Marakech

Pitiful Poetry, Part 1

Higgledee Piggledee, pudding in pie,

I've got nuclear waste in my eye!

Since I became a spy,

I'm lucky to be alive.

'Cause Putin's been endlessly plotting my demise!

*****

Higgledee Piggledee, pudding in pie,

I've got a new law I'd like to decry

No child left behind

Is wasting my time

All the extra paperwork is making me blind!

*****

Higgledee Piggledee, pudding in pie

Justin Timberlake is one spicey guy!

He's made a new flick

That heats me up quick

But the plot is really ridiculous! It's a story that I would never watch under other circumstances, like, say, it starred someone else, like, I don't know, maybe Mel Gibson.

Team Poetry: Arts Police

There once was said at the Tiki:
"Come on let's get freaky freaky"
But it wasn't so nice
When Frank slipped on some ice
And yelled for another beer weakly.

*****

There once was a very old hermit
Whose skin was a fuzzy as kermit's
He drank from a pan
And would only eat flan
And he said, "Here's a flag; let's burn it!"

*****

Doc and Flannery

Welcome Haiku

Welcome to Dirty
The new telepath on staff
Who'll help sift moments.

My African Queen

A wise woman said,
"If you don't love your work,
Move aside and make room
For that someone
Who does loves it,
So that they may soar
And you can too."

But what if you find yourself
Up a quagmired career path,
Like Charlie and Rosie
Fighting the reeds
On the African Queen?

There is no turning back,
There is no easy path forward,
And no chance of jumping ship.

So what is a girl to do?
Keep slogging, rowing.
Focus on sinking the Louisa,
Prepare to be hung.

Love something hateful
For the sake of sanity, stability.
Perservere, pray, and redouble
The focus, the energy, the faith.

Overcome the pain when
Stinging insults
Cling like leeches
To the heart

And when the breeze
Finds you and the sun shines,
Lean back on the rudder
And soak it up.

Well, I Tried

I walked over to the poetry store off of Mass Ave in Cambridge.
I thought it would inspire a poem in me.
It was closed and I was released from all obligations.

Twelve Little Girls and a Ballerina

Twelve little girls and a ballerina
Holding hands in a circle
Skipping on their toes
Around and around.

I choke up and laugh
My daughter among them.
Her first dance class
Full of sweetness.

The other mothers and I
Gather in the hall,
Craning our necks to watch
Our baby girls learn to leap.

We take turns standing
In the spot with the best view;
The unspoken rotation
Moving like clockwork.

We laugh as our rookies
Fall, or walk instead of march,
Or look at themselves in the mirror
Instead of at Miss Jeanie.

We hope they behave.
We hope they excel.
We hope they are nice to each other.
We hope find peace in the movement of their bodies.

When they are done
They exit the dance floor
Into a mob of grace,
Of hopeful mothers,
Of seasoned young dancers.

And these baby girls
Devour their lollipops
Unmoved by the power
Of their own gifts.

My Haiku's Are So Aggressive

Let's meet at the line
Of scrimmage, mate, face to face
A battle pending.

Vogon Fight Song

Small minds, small ideas, rules
Scorn them not, you maverick!
Hail the status quo!
Hail bureaucracy!
These things, these systems you abhor
As fussy, boring, and didactic
May save you someday.
It is true, they may prevent
The launch of an idea that will change the world
For the good of all humankind,
It is also then true that
They have the power to halt the march of crazy.
And for that, you should be jubilant.

Unburdened

It's so much easier to face the day
When I'm not the only one working for pay.
The drive seems shorter.
The work easier.
And the bills not so scary to pay.

Happy Birthday, Aaron!

This haiku goes out to my cousin on his 32nd birthday...

Aaron is my cuz.
I think he is great even
Though he's miles away.

Flea Bag Motel

The old TV's broke.
The promised cable service
A deep, profound lie.

Stormy Weather

Time to slip away, I thought, as I grabbed my keys
And made for the door, quietly, stealthily.
Just a quick errand to seize the missing piece
For the puzzle I spent the better part of the day on.

In the garage on the top step I turned
And pressed the button to clear the last obstacle
Between me and the Jeep
And began to walk towards the world.

I froze in my forward paces,
Gobsmacked by the drama happening
As the curtain made of aluminum and steel
Rose to reveal nature's passion and rage.

Rain pounded the ground
As only a May thunderstorm
In my hometown can,
Furious, unyeilding, relentless

Raindrops flew from the hood of the Jeep
Like sweat from a boxer's brow
As he takes an uppercut from the Champ
And begins to stagger.

All thoughts of flight flew from my mind
As I stood, amazed, humbled, and wary,
I marveled at the glimpse of Nature's power
So rarely seen in this temperate territory.

A knock at the door interrupted my reverie
And I turned to see another storm brewing
In my daughters face as she realized
I was going to the store without her.

Chagrined, I explained I would be back soon
I gave her a hug as my love put an arm around her
And led her away to other distractions
I braced myself for the soaking and departed.

Standing My Ground

I am a stone wall
Silence my only weapon
You can't climb over

And me without my slicker...

It sucks being caught in the middle
of a pissing contest
with no umbrella.

I Love Old Men

I love old men with old lady faces,
With curly gray hair and
Courteous good graces.

I love their good spirit and jaunty hellos
Their breezy ways and
Their front lawns just so.

They never do grumble
when children may wander
'Cross their gardens so neat
When their ball comes o'er yonder

Their eyes are so glinty
Their nerve very flinty
But you'd never know
the trouble they've seen;
To leave it behind,
They are very keen

Because life is short
And joy is so spare
They'd rather have torte
Than argue warfare.

They've seen it all
They know what they like:
Babies, children, pretty girls and ladies
Good deals and good food
Good laughs and good friends
Good beer and good cheer
All by the hearth
With everyone near.

From the Bottom of My Heart

This is a ballad by Jacob Dylan and the Wallflowers. I wish I could write songs like this...

Fire on the porch on a summer's night
All of my things are there inside
Black smoke rise up, burn on burn higher
I smell leaves and burning tires
Dogs in the meadows barking wild
Blackbird rise up, tell me what have you done

I'm not drunk and I'm not sad
There's nothing inside that I want back
Let me touch your lips, let me see where you're at
Do you wonder how I am tonight
Then don't lose time looking in my eyes
Not every tear means you're gonna cry

From the bottom of my heart
Comes a cold dark feeling
There is nothing but dust
In the layers I'm peeling

From the bottom of my heart
Beats a rattling drum
Marching back up the steps
Into the rays of the sun

Under crushing skies of grays
Paralyzed with phantom pains
Before this room became just a place
Where I just sleep through endless days
Spinning webs and carving names
Where thoughts break up, exploding in space

But I once crossed a quarter mile
Through black pools of razor wire
And cut through the steel
with the edge of a file
While singing rhaphsodies in stride
Hellbent and dignified
Now my time has come
Who you fooling and why?

From the bottom of my heart
Comes a cold dark feeling
There is eminent death
to the promise I'm keeping

From the bottom of my heart
Comes an army of one
Marching back up the steps
Into the rays of the sun

Pale-faces and hollowed eyes
Buried under ruptured skies
Not every smile
means I'm laughing inside
Two-faced and compromised
I've enraptured you with lies
Everything means nothing
and tonight everything is mine

From the bottom of my heart
Comes a cold dark feeling
I have buried so much
In the layers I'm peeling

From the bottom of my heart
A battle will come
Marching back up the steps
Into the rays of the sun

From the bottom of my heart
Comes a cold dark feeling
Wrapped around tight
With no sign of leaving

From the bottom of my heart
A ballad is sung
Through a whisper she comes
Into the rays of the sun

In the Spirit of Brautigan

I've been a good sport and swallowed a lot of tension
for the sake of harmony and professionalism.
Continue to yank my chain at your peril and
Consider yourself warned.

Blue Imp with a Fairy Tail

He buzzes around my head
Whacking me with his wand
Trying to get me to laugh, to cry
To weep, to snort.

He swats my butt with his forked tail
He trips me as I take the stairs
He reaches up my nose
And pulls out all the hairs

He gives me noogies
And Indian burns
He cracks my knuckles
And kicks my shins

He spins me 'round and 'round
And sends me toward a ditch
And laughs and laughs
When I fall on my ass....in the mud.

He tells me sad stories
Of how tough he had it growing up
He makes me cry
And then calls me a chump

He pulls the threads on my new sweater
While endlessly talking about the weather
And giving me wet willies
And wedgies.

He farts in my bed
And traps me under the covers
Forcing me to breathe
The stench of his fairy ass

He grasps my back fat
And says, "looky looky!"
He hikes my stretchmarks
Like the Appalachian Trail

He tells my friends I snore
He tells my boss she's a bore
He tells my neighbor I'm a theif
He tells my parents I hate their roast beef

I dare not nap when he's around
He'll write "penis" on my forehead
He'll dunk my hand in warm water
And freeze my bra.

He knocks my drink off the counter
He leaves rakes lay around my yard
I know he wants me to step on them
And whack my forehead very hard.

One day I'll get lucky
And step on him.