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Haiku

I need to revisit Squirrel and Penelope. I don’t know where my time goes.

Car repairs are a nuisance! I’ve had to hitchhike at least twice, when cars I’ve owned broke down on the highway, miles from nowhere. Come to think of it, they were both Pontiacs.
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He dreaded, of course,
what their parents would say when
they learned of the tryst.
The raven-headed
beauty didn’t seem to mind.
As the ash logs burned,
she leaned to be kissed,
then reached for her wine flute and
sipped her chardonnay.
He watched her watch the
moonlight flicker on the bay,
and what gleamed in her
eyes was like the glint
of firelight on the leaded,
diamond-paned window.

He did not notice
the slight turn of her near smile,
a dark harbinger.

She moved her lips and white teeth
to bite off his ear.
Al, it would seem your grim macabre writing has maybe rubbed off on me! Yikes.

darted from under the hutch
before she could bite.
The young man shrieked and
departed, not wearing much,
and streaked through the night.

naked, now pale and thinner,
still shaking with fright,
while at the cabin
a sleek, raven-haired beauty
finished her last bite.


where the harvest moon shone and
oak leaves were falling.
I’ve gotten out of the Poetry group several times but keep rejoining because so many members of a private group I’m in keep reporting on the goings on, so I get curious. That particular thread was started by another M--an imposter!

After I spun my Fiero off an Interstate, I had to have the suspension bolted back together. Misalignment is hard not only on teeth but on tires.
There was something strange
about the little girl who
danced in the shadows,
singing eerily
words only a slayer knows,
as by a sea change,
watching the woman
slinking toward her. The child
knelt in the cool sand,
then rose warily,
faced the woman, and with a
long dagger gored her.



shock of slicing steel and
watched her bowels tumble
steaming to the sand
and rock as from the child she
did reel and stumble.

Time for me to crash out. I get up early. Sweet dreams--or terrifying ones--whichever kind you like best.

light go off, then handed her
sword to Arnie Hoff,
then stopped and waited
for Cal to spray her hair and
smoothe what was scruffy.
When the photo lights
came back on, she waved her sword
in the cold pre-dawn:
“I’m Little Buffy
the Manitou Slayer,” she
smiled and related.

Al/M do you have the link to the thread in Poetry? I'm curious. I haven't quit it, but rarely visit. Like M, that other group sometimes gets my curiosity up enough to visit, but not too often.
Again, great Haiku arc, you guys. LoLoLs :-)


Good for you, Alex! There are people who have character and manners and know how to dress, and you’ll be miserable if you settle for less than that. Take it from someone who came close more than once.



While I iron, I alternately write poetry in my head and and repeat passages of basic French from a very old book I got at a library sale. I don’t write easily sitting at a computer, but have to be doing something else, like ironing or folding clothes, or mowing, or washing dishes, or driving.
I remember a picture I saw of an elderly person threading a needle, her tongue between her teeth, as though her tongue and her hands were connected by some basic wiring of the nerves. I write better when I’m using my hands in some task that leaves my mind free.

And interesting your writing method. I can formulate ideas when doing menial tasks, but it rarely becomes anything composed. I find writing on the computer has freed my verbal imagination in a way I would not have anticipated. (Am I glad I taught myself how to properly type in the summer before grade 12!)
I would have liked her
soft skin the colour of gum
except for her name.
What is in a name?
If the name is Miss Piggy
the frog win's the game.

And your life doesn't sound boring at all. It sounds very relaxing and calm.
By the way, your wife sounds very similar to me in that respect. I'm a nonstop reader, and if I had my way, that would be all I'd be doing everyday. Reading a good mystery novel or a Charles Dickens makes everything better. :)


As to the subliminal messaging, my father gave me a book when I was in grade 6 or 7. And it was about the subliminal messages in TV advertising. I remember that it had pictures of screen images with suggestive words to buy or believe this or that. Hmmm. What was the name of that book? (To give you a time frame, that would have been around 1973 or 4.)
And what is a 'unicorn'?

I'll start a new haiku
The earbud slipped in-
to my ear, drowning out the
Noise of the whole world

of a Patio Dinner.
I stretch on the chaise.
Hot enchiladas!
The TV, on Channel 8,
blurts out: Pigs in Space!



an after-hours landing,
ready with the probe,
later to find out
a junior partner had been
the first astronaut.

Here's my go. (I think they might still be PG13 - if not, Al or other moderators, I'll edit):
He probed the moon's core
but in his haste to begin,
left behind his glove.
And when he'd finished
took with him his first's error
that clapped him in bed.

on the moon,” the nurse said, and
her smile made him cringe
as she told him to
pull down his pants, in her hand
a large-bore syringe.
Books mentioned in this topic
Mugging the Muse (other topics)The Raj Quartet (other topics)
Marcovaldo (other topics)
Invisible Cities (other topics)
Confessions of a Taoist on Wall Street (other topics)
More...
Authors mentioned in this topic
David Payne (other topics)Thomas Merton (other topics)
Robert Payne (other topics)
Barbara Gowdy (other topics)
David K. Reynolds (other topics)
I was exhausted, grinning
from such ecstacy,
only to be by
my wife accosted, who eyed
me suspiciously.
“Where have you been?” she
waved her finger. “Asking the
way,” I blithely said--
“Past the Lion’s Den,
the folk singer, is the place
that sells pumpkin bread.”
Women in corsets
and flowing sleeves we saw as
we wandered the grounds
in evening shadows
of drifting leaves and hammered
dulcimers’ old sounds.