Monday, April 29, 2013

April Haiku


If maple syrup

was the very blood of trees,

I’d be their vampire.

 

 

Blue carpet fibers

reaching, curling underfoot

tickle sole and soul.

 

 

Let’s try some “magic”:

place the veil over our eyes

and force us to “dream.”

 

 

A silly poet

playing a moot language game,

tapping his fingers.

 

 

“A small flame inside”

is a romantic first line;

it doesn’t work here.

 

 

“Be concise,” they say.

To me, life it too concise,

So I say, “delay!”

 

 

Breath-taking genius

has revealed itself to me

through everyone else.

No comments:

Post a Comment