the arrow flexes, sinuously sailing, its mean path, straight
Weaving Straightly [Haiku]
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Tag Archives: poem
Four Aphorisms
1.) If you spend more time each day faultfinding than feeling grateful, your philosophy is fucked. 2.) Drop useless ideas as one would drop a flaming marshmallow. 3.) If you shop recreationally, consider square dancing or kung fu. 4.) No idea should be beyond critique, but you don't have to be an ass about it.
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Painted Skies [Haiku]
the rising sun paints from a vivid palette, but - soon - skies cool
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Monkey Pod Tree [Haiku]
Warm Morning Light [Common Meter]
My walk is in the early hours, in dawn's buttery light. There's a gold glint to all that's pale, whether a wall of white or waters of a placid lake or eucalyptus trunks or on the waving Pampas grass or on the robes of monks. And by the time I've lost that light, the walking hour is done. And I'll be looking forward to when next the day is dun.
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Desert Rains [Haiku]
a sandy desert sits under sodden clouds, soaking up each drip
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Mountain Oasis [Haiku]
in pale-brown mountains, we round a curve to see a lush oasis
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Fog Town [Haiku]
Horses [Haiku]
Midnight Circus [Free Verse]
The Midnight Circus was not as it seemed. It was bright colors: motion-blurred. It was the tinny monotony of music box-style tinkling tunes & organ tones. One could even make out the scent of fried foods and cotton candy, among the many other [uncircus-like] odors. But there was also the story a mind wrote to dance sensory facts into sensory fictions; that was where the falsity lie. If one opened one's eyes, letting them focus: there'd be sparking wires, & flames licking ever closer. The shrill organ tones would become screams. The summer night's humid heat would become third degree burns. The circus smells would become dust and death and acrid burnt combustibles. So, he didn't open his eyes to war or his impending demise, but let his mind march into that big musty, canvas tent, surrendering to its irreality.
