Haiku Showing 8,301-8,350 of 8,460

[M]

The marsh sounds of frogs,
the cries of loons, filled autumn’s
oil-sketched afternoons.

[Anne]

Loony froggy tunes
Cried out in the cool autumn
Seeking company.

[M]

The headlights stagelit
a bridge’s broken railing
enameled with ice.

[Doug]

Beautiful satin
Lovely home for soul and bones
Beautiful Glads

[Anne]

Winter's sun yet weak,
Welcoming, melting, warming,
Preparing for Spring.

[M]

A satin nightgown,
floor-length, plum, relic of rooms
from which she had come,

modeled her shoulders,
suggested her waist, boudoir
mirrors, things unlaced.

[M]

She woke as the cat
leapt down from the windowsill
of a distant dusk.

[Ryan]

Very nice, M!

[Ryan]

Across the hardwood,
a soft scrape of paws, her dreams
filled with raking claws

[M]

Ryan, what happened to your 5-7-5 that was up there before? I intended to reply, but the day had other plans.

The cat sniffed tumblers’
half-drunk whiskeys, stretched, then sought
her bowl of Friskies.

[Ryan]

Love it!

I took it down as I didn’t want to breach any profanity rules. I wasn’t happy that it conveyed exactly what I was trying to say anyway.

[M]

The brick walk submerged
in violets told her spring
had somehow arrived.

[Ryan]

Even violets
failed to thaw the winter
thriving inside her.

[M]

His tone made her heart
a long icicle, her mood
a sour pickle.

[Ryan]

Under bed covers
his tones were harsh, his odour
worse—distinctly marsh.

[M]

Her thoughts were nettles
by a disused road, its end
a vine-covered bridge,

Life assumed the guise
of rusting nails, flaking paint,
rotting rafter tails.

[M]

Not having published,
he perished, relinquishing
the dream he cherished.

[M]

“I want a Craftsman
house,” said Floyd. “Something wooden,
broad-eaved, bungaloid.”

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

Sorry this one is inspired by Ryan's "violets" poem:

Red posies stretch up
like gentle hands growing. To
grasp the sun in day.

[Guy]

The poppies danced out
from the other weed-like blossoms
to Pink Floyd's bloomers.

[M]

The catalpa stump
rotted, leaving a vined hole
in the disused park.

[Guy]

The lovers, stumped,
Could not find the perfect place
To park at the park

[M]

She’d read of the park,
its glacial air. A parka
seemed the thing to wear.

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

A hoodie, parka,
immersed by earbuds' sound. The
anti-social- a
lone ready for the town!

(I know mine falls past 575 I couldn't fit that last part in, lol).

[M]

(Nice rhyme, C. J.!)

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

Thanks M!

[Guy]

Neighbourhood hoodlums
in hoodies hid their earbuds,
the sounds of music.

[M]

They calmed disputes
acrimonious with strains
of Thelonious.

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

He sat conducting
Upon a white "seat"- horns loud
from various "strains"

(lol)

[Guy]

Music-like, the strains
sounded like trainers straining
to train conductors.

[M]

He masterminded
the schemes, and orchestrated
works of destructors,

but lacked a talent
for themes, and was ranked among
semiconductors.

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

He felt had no place
in life till his luck turned: His
"peep" touched a circuit and became a conductor!

(Ok I gotta stop these, lol!!!)

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

I think these are definitely inspired by M's posts... ;)

[M]

What remained of youth
but a husk? Narcotics dulled
her longing, but dusk

brought a disturbed sleep
of unpaid debts, dim lounge light,
burned-out cigarettes.

[M]

(Great one, Alex!)

[Ryan]

Oh, no, I was not
late my whole life, just early
for my departure.

[M]

(Excellent, Ryan! An unexpected twist.)

[Ryan]

Thanks, M. I’m rusty!

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

To Take off in life
beyond the "normal bounda
-ries:" soar like a Plane!

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

Story lives have twists
Though cruel like life they "might" have
happy ending still...

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

Murder mystery
Why would we read it? A movie
twisted to motion

[M]

The old police chief
muttered, “Murder.” Narquist, gagged,
swung from a girder.

[Ryan]

Unsure of the facts,
the old chief frowned. Narquist stayed
mute, just hung around.

[M]

Narquist was beyond
haranguing. His murder left
the old chief hanging.

[M]

From an age-darkened
pine wall, a fuse box surveys
the speckle-tiled floor

of a laundry room
in which fall, through blinds,
on flickering staves,

the notes these late-spring
afternoons compose: a mute
yet impassioned score.

[Ryan]

So good, M!

[M]

Thank you, Ryan! I'm not sure what happened after the first stanza. It was like a bottle rocket that flew off into the woods.

[M]

Thank you, Alex!

[M]

As the grounds assume
their summer palette, clusters
of daylilies bloom.

[C. J., Cool yet firm like ice]

The fighters on grounds:
One, with Tai Chi, seemingly
passive. "Let's BATTLE!"