haiku

Kooky Cookie poems inspired by Basho

It’s a hot night. Unbearable. I tried sleeping, but it led to tossing and turning and calling down curses upon Summer. So what does one do when one feels all hot and bothered on a Summer night? Why get up and read Basho, of course. One haiku in particular stuck out for me, and it’s pretty obvious why. Inspiration struck my boiled brain, and I sat down and whipped out a baker’s dozen of pomes and haikoos in “homage.”

Here is Basho’s haiku:

Awake at night–

the sound of the water jar

Cracking in the cold.

 

And here is a sampling of mine. Enjoy!

1

Awake at night

with an empty cookie jar

and a glass of milk whiter than

the moon.

2

Fingering the cookie jar

Finding only crumbs

Licking them from my fingers.

3

Feeling inside the cookie jar

I find only the Spirits of Cookies Past

but they don’t taste the same.

4

If

I didn’t live alone

I could blame

someone

for the empty

cookie

jar.

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Two Apple Blossom Poems

There is a line of apple blossom trees at work that I love to sit by while taking my lunch. Here are a pair of poems written while I was sitting there enjoying a Spring afternoon.

Enjoy.

1

Petals of pink snow

pile up in the shadows

of an apple tree upon the grass

waiting for someone

to make

an apple blossom angel.

 

2

A bubble of gum on a girl’s lips–

apple blossoms

bursting from a branch.

two moon poems

From our kitchen table where I sit each night to write, I have a great view of downtown and the night sky. Tonight I caught a glimpse of the moon and, inspired, wrote these two poems.

Enjoy.

 

A rusty nail

hammered crookedly into the sky–

the moon.

 

The Moon

slinking through branches

wait to pounce

on a passing car.

Haiku Hullabaloo

I’ve been immersed in the Chinese “Rivers and Mountains” poetry lately, and today is one of those days (daze?) that puts one into a haiku frame of mind (yes, haiku are Japanese, but eh, so be it!).

*     *     *

Pikes Peak, shivering

in the morning dew —

would you like my coat?

*     *     *

The mere trembles

ripples shivering as

the fog settles on its skin.

*     *     *

Yes, not proper haiku but Kerouackian and for that they are good enough.

Back to work on this Prufrockian morning.