Morning Triku #138 – Ends


May the Force be You


Seeing the bright side

can only enlighten the

time on the dark side


Red Read


The final haiku

will be writ large in the blood

of mankind’s silence


Day Dreaming Nightmare


If you’re the one of

my dreams how can I ever

believe you’re real




In Periphery


Time’s gone before we see

the entirety of periphery.

Viewing life from afar

speeding past in our car.


Vistas ever change

in the given range.

Moving pictures pass

rainbows through the glass.


Spreading very thin

the less is seen within.

Edges all around

holding sight and sound.


Reflections never last

the future comes to fast.

Viewing life from afar

all’s left is the scar.



Bursting with Joy


Bubbles can be big

Bubbles can be small

Bubbles mostly clear

But not always a ball


From the wands of wizards

Bubbles bring much joy

From toddlers to centurions

They’re everyone’s favorite toy.


In tubs, ponds and pools

Bubbles can be had

Sure to bring a giggle

To the naughty and the sad


But when a bubble’s external

And we’re trapped within

Remember that fun is free

When it’s made with a grin



Spirits Count


A chorus flesh without minds to teach.

Organs play within arm’s reach.

Letters penned digit free.

Spirit adds and souls see.

Eyes can taste what ears can’t smell.

Lips walk back where legs won’t dwell.

Hands don’t beat the hearts grip.

Lungs do fill with one last sip.

Blood’s bled for freedom’s speech.

Our number’s noted to later preach.



Outside the Box


Kings rule and Bishops herd

Knightly armor is absurd

Queens both hated and are dear

The Rooks rightly left to take up the rear


Conned into servitude

Rewarded with an attitude

To compensate and to blame

A pawn is pushed in the game


Each maintains their special place

Unless a better takes their space

And within these lines opinions abound

While ignoring the fact the table is round



Cell to Pad


All have stories, few ever tell,

journeys ventured and desires to quell.

Desires quenched and misgivings had,

good tales abound, few ever bad.


Temperatures rise and emotions swell,

tightly bound the poet does dwell.

Here words cascade to drown the sad,

ink flows freely I think I’m glad.


For if to spiral back into my hollow shell,

where the sea’s only heard is my living hell.

There verses echo of another passing fad,

when only time notes the page we add.