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Has it really been
a month since I told you all
about my day, dear?
such a sweet ride they
didn’t want to leave so they
did Wendy’s drive-thru
Our longer springtime
walks knock him out. There he lies
fat happy fur child.
No one waters them.
Tiny cells plead, but TV
seems more important.
Incrementally
I clean unearthing a clear
space on the table.
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!”
In the skyscraper
canyons, light outlines moving
shapes sipping Starbucks.
A haiku a day?
Not quite. Some days the tap runs,
some days it’s bone dry.
Could Cameron Diaz
maybe have done her hair? That
ponytail so wrong.
see also Constant reader
Like a lover who
wanders I return here to
check in now and them
Accomplished nothing
’til I took Motrin a whip
that tamed this tiger
We watch bad TV
eat microwave popcorn feel
guilty not really.
I stop posting in
the blogosphere. No one reads
me. Do I exist?
Nothing pleases me.
Time I don’t have to account for.
A blank calendar.
Some people like to
cook. Then there’s me who dreads that
thing called dinner hour.
“Have you been writing
your haiku journal?” he asked.
You read. You know ‘no.’
An affectation,
but it’s cute, and she is for
given many sins.
God rest ye merry
gentlemen? I don’t see them
lifting a finger!
My spare bedroom holds
many possibilities
under all that junk.
Like flickering tongues
of flame in green…blue…red. Just
plug in and enjoy.
TV’s “Fisherman
and His Wife” story for our
times. Unalloyed greed.
Two tribes - In-laws and
Parents - force you to over-
eat, then watch TV.
Inertia roosting
inside me like a hen un-
willing to lay eggs.
I really should start
dinner. But husband’s gone, so
I’ll just blog and starve.
Post-tryptophan, we
watch Forrest Gump and digest
the day’s memories.
The more I compute,
the lazier I get, and the
saggier the couch.
If every meal
were cereal, we’d all have
more hours in the day.
Heavy blanket weighs
you down, yet cocoons you. Why
bother to crawl out?
Canned pumpkin sold out.
Damned overachievers! I’m
a “last-minute” type.
Too many carbs. Need
tea, coffee, power drink. No
rest for the weary.
I start out strong with
good intentions. Sit at the
computer. Day’s shot.
Why bother with this
service when I keep up with
A Haiku A Day?
Why does burrowing
under thick down comforters
bring such sheer delight?
My husband says he
catches up on my life in
my blogs. We should talk.
I cook mornings so
I can eat evenings. I call
it planning ahead.
When we run out of
batteries, we sacrifice
the TV remote.
Too tired to head to
our beds, my daughter and I
tag team sofa sleep.
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