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At the interview
J’s hired on the spot, full of
new employee glee.
Has it really been
a month since I told you all
about my day, dear?
Undercooked pancakes,
misspelled cards, weeds for flowers.
Love makes them perfect.
In it she was arm
candy, someone that turned heads
unexpectedly.
Who will you be, and
from where? What will have brought you
here - mere chance or choice?
Just water on rock.
And yet, sheer power compels
visitors to gape.
She curls around the
baby like a spiral shell
protecting its snail.
An unexpected
crocus emerges, smiling
from a brown leaf pile.
From a Revealing
start to this auspicious point -
my life in short form.
We all complain there’s
no place to plug in. One by
one, our laptops die.
Haiku, like bonsai,
needs care and pruning. A mind
unfocused kills both.
posted to my Twitter account
Project due and I * like the late adopter I * am, haven’t finished.
Emily Bronte * labored quietly but I * scream “Here are my words!”
“Read my poem? Please?”
In real life I’d get blank stares.
Here, you’re back for more.
Just over five months
This one four hundred fifty
Art or wasted time?
A haiku a day?
Not quite. Some days the tap runs,
some days it’s bone dry.
Reclaiming the word,
she grabs the bitch by the horns
and makes us all proud.
see also Inconstant blogger
That you’ve found me and
read my life in seventeen
syllables floors me.
J9 can’t sleep since
her mother died stays up and
writes heartache in tears.
Today J begins
flying not yet a driver
the sky’s the limit
Kid in candy shop
I dab on product in search
of my true colors.
Handful of turquoise
begs to be strung with silver
draped around my neck.
Crashed. Met Tailies. Then
Others. Hatch blew up. Kate caged.
Got Lost about there.
Never read the play
before you see it performed.
There’s too much drama.
I stop posting in
the blogosphere. No one reads
me. Do I exist?
“Have you been writing
your haiku journal?” he asked.
You read. You know ‘no.’
My fingers talk my
eyes listen my head makes it
up my heart hungers.
Commute through fiber
optic cable to a home
built by words not deeds
She PhotoShops her
self covered with blood spatters
loves puppies, is sweet.
An affectation,
but it’s cute, and she is for
given many sins.
Fat balls of yarn crowd
my home like clawless kittens,
needling me to start.
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