Haiku Showing 8,101-8,150 of 8,460

[Guy]

The inside joke lost,
found in the last place sought out,
but without laughter.

[M]

The shapely, dark-haired
typist Brenda knew Brad’s faults
and his agenda.

[Guy]

:-)

[M]

“Medicare,” said Brad,
“the part that pays for healing
a man’s broken heart.”

[M]

Though Shorty despised
the vocal arts, his ballads
long had topped the charts

till by scornful words
he’d spoken he was undone,
his record broken.

[Stephanie]

Records no longer
needed or pursued, he kept
walking for great food.

[Lee]

"Great food indeed!" That's what
he said, before he saw
the bill and quickly fled.

[M]

Stephanie, it’s wonderful to see you back!

Hmm, how to follow Lee’s . . .

He fled down the walk.
Flustered but cute, his waitress
was in hot pursuit.

[Lee]

How to follow mine? That's how I feel after all of the awesome ones here!

She yelled "Sir! Please wait!
You left your wallet beside
your plate!" He halted.

[M]

Very nice, Lee!

Gaping guiltily,
Ray felt ill. She led him back
to Twin City Grill.

[Lee]

Thank you M, yours are a fun to follow.

Begrudgingly he paid the bill
Spending so much made him
feel ill.

The waitress told her coworkers
the tale. Laughing about his
escape fail.

[M]

She pulled a notepad
from her purse, sketched a snowflake
in brief, rhyming verse,

then smiled scornfully
and said, “M got this mixed up
with the cinquain thread.”

[Lee]

The cinquain thread!
Oh what a delight
I applaud the moderator's plight.

[M]

“Life’s short,” said Morris
on Broadway, grabbing Doris
and seizing the Day.

[Ryan]

The little poem
all askew—born a cinquain,
became a haiku.

[M]

Ryan, I had started out to follow your carpe diem cinquain and unthinkingly wrote a 5-7-5. There seemed nothing to do but post it here.

[Ryan]

I’m glad you did, it made me smile.

[Lee]

Cinquain, haiku or a peom?
What'll be written next time?
Only time will tell.

[M]

Chad had the looks, knew
the moves, talked smooth, but at times
was a slow learner.

Divorced and wild, Deb
stalked in, a doe-eyed bombshell,
a bunny burner.

[Mark]

Chad drawls to Deb, "Hon,
At love you've lost and I've won.
Please don't burn my bum."

[Lee]

She giggled softly, a smile
on her lips, extending a
hand, "Let's leave, quick!"

[M]

Past prey remembered
Deb as the spider who wove
the deadliest web.

[M]

With a bolt of fear,
he heard their mournful cry: ghost
spiders in the sky.

[M]

Thank you, Alex! I figured nobody was old enough to get the reference. The Vaughn Monroe version of “(Ghost) Riders in the Sky” came out in 1949. My parents had it on a 78.

[Guy]

Icky sticky legs,
Black, walk across the dark sky
One star at a time.

[Ryan]

The spider inside
her wove a black web, no rain
could ever wash out.

[T]

Naked treehands reach
into winter. Fell spiders
flee the coming sun.

[M]

Like a ship in fog,
she was wrecked; in a torn web,
a writhing insect.

[Guy]

Adrift beneath fog,
Her entangling web of words
was the sound of home.

[M]

A spider, like an
antique loom, patiently wove
the dusk’s purple gloom,

from whose reeded stillness
a marsh bird’s cries seemed to cue
the ghostly moonrise.

[Guy]

In the purple dusk
The dark black spider awaits
The rain of white doves.

[T]

A puff of white silk,
woven between wall and wood
tiny spiders wait.

[Guy]

Lovely!

[Lee]

Patiently they wait;
Weaving threads, spreading dread
Although so tiny.

[Guy]

Tiny gossamer,
Beautiful in silhouette,
Woven for a life.

[Jim]

Go elsewhere, she said,
I have spiders in my head.
Shhh, he said, wrap me.

[Guy]

Love that, Jim!

To be in silk wrapt
A fine gossamer rapture
Of stillness and death.

[M]

“Why was he my world?”
she pondered. She sipped rare scotch,
wore long-tailed blouses,

sketched shrimpboats, old wharves,
gulls, and wandered dusty aisles
of auction houses.

[Jim]

thanks, Guy! missed you folks!

She stuck dried shrimp heads
to her fingertips, then danced
nude, tortured the waves.

[M]

How the fishermen
did rave! Even gulls exclaimed,
“She’s really New Wave!”

[Jim]

Seagulls know one song
alone, lament of the sea
that always craves shores.

[Lee]

The water's song reached shore
tourists unaware, crave more
dread filled the fisher-folk.

[M]

“All they served with drinks,”
snapped Rita, “were stale saltines
and cubed Velveeta.”

[Guy]

The smooth talking suit,
with tongue sweet and oily hair,
stepped into her world.

[M]

She cast strange glances,
coyly, not sure what to make
of Mister Oily.

[Lee]

Oil glided freely from his
pores, nervous because of
the lady's glances.

[Mark]

A mortician's blues,
Hot day, black suit, muddy shoes.
Buried life's lost dreams.

[M]

Faye looked on, afraid
to ask it: Who was the man
in Delbert’s casket?

[Lee]

Casket? Or is that a basket?
Old Lady Jane wiped
clean her lenses.

[M]

Hi, Lee!

Now that her glasses
were clean, she leafed through a torn
fashion magazine.