Glitter and Sparkle
need the light. The clear see through.
The dull never shine.
Even the Cubic
Zirconia is a clear
gem in its own right
The last King perished
while summoning sustenance
from subjects unread
May the Force be You
Seeing the bright side
can only enlighten the
time on the dark side
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
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.
All the Angles
Slippery slopes oft
Cited often refer to
The user’s forehead
Love can be given,
Taken, had, made or lost but
Acting stupid is
Easy though living with the
A second childhood
begins when memories of
the first forgotten
Get Over It
Most “overs”, such as;
turn, take, roll, push, comb, and left
are best with ketchup
Silver’s second is
the golden rule while bronze adds
the finishing touch
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
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.
Stars blinking sky high
Constellations dancing by
Airport views of I
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
Heads heat and hearts cool.
Hands fly, lips hurt the eyes see.
Legs run to be free.
My shadow only follows half the day,
when I turn to smile it looks the other way.
It forever lurks, even in the night;
they are after all merely shades of light.
As are the demons that haunt the mind,
there depths unseen they seek to find.
Casting shadows to lead my way,
an image in the dark, half the day.
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.
Can a poet be a poet with nothing to say?
Can my words be precise when all is gray?
Does the sun ever shine on a gloomy day?
Why don’t lips and hands work the same way?
For to speak what I feel I would dearly pay.
If only to say “I love you” each and every day.
Coming to grips with
and embracing aren’t the same
But better than not
In reverse forward is time.
Today’s feelings, tomorrows rhyme.
Yesterday’s drive neutralized.
Days hide in nights disguised.
To see at last a final verse.
When parked forever in rolling hearse.
Words dissolve in heart’s resolve,
minds paint shades of gray.
Souls see blue, yellow shines through,
greens brighten our day.
The sun sets the sky ablaze,
stars permit our view.
Into space we achingly gaze,
seeking salve for a world with no clue.
Language is sound fills all around with highs and lows of note.
The art of the word’s felt not heard, not seen, thought or wrote.
Birds speak in song words we get wrong, the music we think our own.
Thunder claps, lights bolts traps and the silence forever unknown.
What is a haiku?
A seventeen syllable,
three line, one act play.