Haiku to end the run
April is complete
Snow storms, broken trees, Easter
thirty poems in…
Only two more poems ’til the month is done.
It has been challenging, nagging fun.
I wondered at first how to find my voice.
Then realized, no matter, just make a choice.
Sit yourself down and write something new!
Do it! Right now! Just do what you do!
Nobody cares if it’s quite good, or bad.
Most everyone already thinks you are mad.
Most will not read it, so give it a go.
Put fingers to keyboard, develop a flow.
So I did and I’ve made it this far at least.
One more before midnight will slay April’s beast.
Then onward to May with a flowery festoon.
Resolve fixed and focused to continue through June.
Thirty-eight years I have done mortgage work
liking it less each year that I do it,
but it pays my bills, and feeds my face,
so I freely choose to stick to it
Unlike others I know who plan things well
I have no means to retire
though I have reached that age
when my employer may very well require
I stop showing up, grumping around
thinking I know so much,
when in truth, if I face it,
I am pretty much out of touch
We’ll see, we .shall. see
how much longer I tolerate their ire.
It is tough to not tell them to just drop dead,
I have never been a good liar.
It was YOU, no doubt, you blasted, late evening cup of Nespresso
with your luscious Guinness – like head of crema,
the black and tan of non-alcoholic delights,
your nutty flavor with the slightly robust finish,
<can anything be slightly robust?>
sinful, rich, dark, smooth, not-to-be-ignored temptation,
dastardly beverage brewed from the fruit of Colombian mountains,
drunk at the end of a lovely evening of hugs from friends.
YOU stole my sleep, just when I craved it,
needed it to free my brain of a week of mortgage nonsense.
I needed that sleep, you yellow-bellied, pusillanimous bastard!
NEEDED it, damn it!
Now look at me, sitting here in near pitch blackness
pecking away at keys on this callous machine,
shooing off the cat who is also now awake, mewling for attention.
Oh! I know just how this endless, sleepless, leg shaking night will end.
Know it as surely as the night is cold, and long, and dark,
“darker than the inside of goat,” one long lost beloved would say.
I will sit here searching for synonyms which will lead me down long dead ends,
diverting my focus; twisting my tale into meaningless drivel.
Then I will pace the room; pull at my hair, shed my robe, put it on again,
stand in front of the fridge, not really hungry, not really looking,
sit back down poised to write something brilliant, monumental…
then, when I have stared long enough at this uncaring, back-lit screen,
I will sit down somewhere, but not in my bed, to finish Mystery on the Isles of Shoals
the outcome of which I have already studied, about which I have wondered for years,
and I will fall asleep, hitting deep, REM sleep as never before, until my book
crashes -as in “crash (verb) fall or come down violently” – to the floor
finally awakening me to go to bed where I will gladly sleep the sweetest sleep of the night
waking only when the sun is streaming through the window,
when I will stretch, scratch Emil’s ears and brew another cup of YOU.
it will be a riot to watch them spar
Trump shall emerge winner above and far
he will direct the conversation
and captivate the nation
as he eviscerates the democrat star
Do not just stand there!
Mop up that spreading blind sludge
well before dinner!
As I recall,
the air was cool
with every songbird on earth
and I thought
to step out
onto the treetops
to walk amongst the angels.
Imminent or far
Start the dance early eve’ning
Champagne is chilling