Haiku Showing 51-100 of 8,460

[Jessica]

This -understanding
between us has run away
to something like mis-

[Guy]

Jessica, that is very clever! I'm not sure if I actually like it, though. ;-)
Now for something obscure:

To be -taken by
A stand-in under mistletoe
Is -apprehension.

[M]

It seemed, in the mist
of half-sleep, windowpanes dim,
she was close, still there,

who, blushing, had kissed
him under fake mistletoe.
Now there was but slow

rain and the chill air,
the recalled scent of her hair,
what she’d said to him.

[M]

It was a night of
longing lips, questioning eyes,
and Freudian slips.

[M]

The homework I had,
Abnormal Psychology,
Chapter 23:

“What Is Lunacy?”
Here’s an inmate barking mad--
a picture of me!

[Guy]

Al, no need to worry about drifting back to thoughts of six! How did Shakespeare put it?

Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.

Rosalind, from As You Like It, III.ii.420-4.

Am I the inmate
of the lunatic full moon,
werewolves or Freud's slips?

[M]

He suspects his wife
may be a werewolf. Something’s
eating the neighbors.

[Caitlan]

*



Or maybe he is
The one who changes at night,
eating the neighbors.

[Jessica]

She seems to have grown
a lavish fondness of rare
steak and manicures.

[M]

Roma Wine presents
“The House in Cypress Canyon.”
(Soundstage thunder rolls.)

(A howl in the night.
Blood runs from under a door.)
“Ellen, don’t touch it!”

“The milkman, poor guy--
was like this when I found him . . .”
(Suspenseful music.)

[M]

You’re up early!

[Jessica]

"This tastes like pennies."
Bronze milk poured from the pitcher
drips down Tommy's shirt.

[M]

Yikes! A three-hour class.


A strange, milky moon
ruptured and began to run
all over the sky.

[Guy]

Yikes! I remember those! In fact the physics and chem labs were minimum 5 hours, and if things didn't go well...

Her skin was the milk
of the gibbous moon caressed
by a kitten's tongue.

[M]

Kitten-like, she purred.
Then she growled, a different cat,
and left but his hat.

[Guy]

.


The cat in the hat
licked her lips, combed her whiskers
and smiled his sad smile.

[M]

She left but his hat
and some shreds of his shirt, and
went to find dessert.

[Guy]

But the cat came back
With just a dot of cream cheese
Atop her pink nose.

[M]

She thought of the scream,
where the woman was lying,
the puddle of cream.

[M]

“Did you lap the cream?”
The tall D.A. faced the cat,
whose eyes flashed anger.

[M]

He stared at the cat.
“What? Must I ask you in French?
Lappez-vous la creme?”

[M]

Oh! I just realized I put that in present tense. I don’t have any syllables left to fix it.

[M]

I don’t sit around very long when the dinner bell starts ringing.

[Jessica]

Unfortunately
I know not a spot of French
'cept for c'est la vie.

[M]

Nothing like having a bowl thrown in one’s face. This was supposed to be a lazy morning. How did it get so busy?

No French? Jessica, I’m abashed. I’m also relieved that I’m not the only one who doesn’t know much French.

[M]

My sister’s poodle
is so purebred that he barks
in Parisian French

[M]

Ah, life is so short,
a view of the Seine so sweet,
a sleeping bag cheap.

[Jessica]

A grand silly mess
worth less than a dress of mesh
and money and wire.

[Guy]

Alex wrote: "Ah, Paris the place
for lovers, dreamers and art,
but so expensive!"

Al, may I post this in a blog? It has managed to entangle itself in a mini-synchronicity (what I call a fushigi). Once the blog is completed I'll send you the link if you are curious how your little haiku has become so entangled.

And M you are really a part of it too, with:

"My sister’s poodle
is so purebred that he barks
in Parisian French"

So, I would like to also blog this poem as well, if you would give me the okay.

Thanks,

.guy

[M]

Guy, you’re welcome to it! Sorry to check in so late. I just got back from a weekend at the camper.

[M]

Charcoal on the grill
at a campsite by a lake.
The ground chuck sizzles!

[Jessica]

Our shared concoction
of hotdogmarshmallowstew
dribbles down our chins.

[M]

I think I’m feeling sick.

[Jessica]

Oh dear. Perhaps some coppery milk will help make you feel better? For some reason I'm tending toward unseemly "food" products in my haiku poems...

[M]

Oh, yes. The coppery milk always helps.

[Jessica]

It's also very rich in iron--a definite plus.

[Guy]

Alex wrote: "Ehh, I don't know. I like keeping my writing connected to me somehow and like knowing where it is. But if you give me full credit for my little haiku there and give me the link, I suppose it'll be ..."

M wrote: "Guy, you’re welcome to it! Sorry to check in so late. I just got back from a weekend at the camper."

Thanks M and Al. Once I've got it done — with full accreditation — I'll send you the link in GR's mail. (I'm a bit behind — late poker, last night, and then not getting to bed before the Sunday busy chore day etc, etc, has put me behind the times. Not whining, just saying.)

[Guy]

Deep fried oreos
Sandwich deep fried marshmallows.
Frightfully yummy.

[Caitlan]

*



Yummy in tummy
Slurping, burping, eating and
Throwing everywhere

[M]

They pulled over quick.
Fido, sick, barked and yarked and
pooped where they had parked.

[Guy]

Alex wrote: "Guy wrote: "Alex wrote: "Ehh, I don't know. I like keeping my writing connected to me somehow and like knowing where it is. But if you give me full credit for my little haiku there and give me the..."

Will do. You do realize that AMF is likely trademarked and I will be in some kind of legal violation for using it in a public way? But I'm not REALLY worried - my blog isn't read much anyway, so no one will know. ;-)

[M]

Her real name is Vondel Markleberry. I found her on Facebook.

[M]

Fido’d have been caught
but he brought Dad the slipper
and it was unchewed,

though it came unglued
from Fido’s magic slobber
and squished when Dad walked.

[Jessica]

Such a pleasant kiss
of mossy squelch and slobber
that graces the floor.

[M]

How do I shudder?
Let me count the slobber drops,
not in Portuguese.

[Jessica]

Waking just to find
dewy drops of amylase
on the carpet: oh.

[M]

I feel like a fool,
waking face down on the shag.
What an awful green!

[Jessica]

Are those chunks of--? God!
What an awful hangover.
Someone shut the blinds.

[M]

I knew what you meant. And you’re right. Aspirin wouldn’t help.

[M]

A martini glass,
an olive on a toothpick.
Who are you again?