First Trump said Obama was the worst president in history
Then he said what a great man he was
Next he will try to sell you a bridge in Brooklyn
Then some swamp land in Florida
He will bark you down like at a gypsy at a carnival
Try to sell you Christmas cards in June
The ship of state ain’t real estate it’s is now a ship of fools.
David at 21C
The clock upbraids me with her time
I was out all night long with the Grand Marquis
First it was Heathers then it was Feathers at 21C
The Red Penguin most naturally
Topped it off with drinks at Jocks
I had bourbon on the rocks
The Grand Marquis had his with coke
We had to leave because we both were broke
I fell into bed and slept til 7 most fitfully
I was out all night long with the Grand Marquis.
Wild things leave skin behind them, and these are tokens passed from one to another so that the fugitive kind can always follow their kind ~ Tennessee Williams
Trenton makes, the world takes.
I woke up this morning nine stories tall to
the sounds of jack hammers and back up alarms.
Tolling church bells joined the cacophony of
wailing sirens that screamed like demented demons.
The sounds of a city come to life
Trenton, a city of broad backs and stiff pants.
My building is a cuckoo’s nest.
Ah Trenton, ah world, ah so!
At day’s end I climb into my auto gleaming
And like a silver salmon swimming
I move along the concrete streams of
Interstate highway 109
Drawn by unseen demons dancing
Ever splashing onward dashing into rays yellow slanting
On I go swiftly moving navigating smoothly
Through white waters in my head and in my soul
Alpha beta delta theta waving pulsing and convulsing
Extolling precious price for previous postures
Whipping weakened weary body
Into flagging frazzled frenzy likely shocking sons and daughters
And ladies of innocence
But before all is lost control is gained and once
More forward moving I gather speed and momentum
Falling headlong into Revelations
Breaking through seals one through seven
I scream with pain to the terrible crushing roar
Of the silence in the dark of the deep
Heavy impenetrable void of the black
Silent mystery we know as God-
Let us pray.
The white kanji
look like dancing skeletons
across a black screen.
My soul she shrieks and flings me down
Laughing maniacally
The wind picks up and lifts her dress
Teasing and pleasing me
All is nothingness, so she says
As she pins me to the bed
With a silver shaft of cold, cold steel
She runs me through and through.
According to Jane Hirshfield, in the “Art of Haiku,” a Haiku is a poem composed of 17 syllables or sound bites containing vivid imagery. The traditional Haiku poem should evoke a particular season, although western Haiku writers don’t always follow this proscription.
The original meaning of the Japanese word Haiku, according to Hirshfield, is “Playful verse.” The celebrated Japanese poet, Basho, raised Haiku to new levels of significance by adding a spiritual and emotional dimension.
Basho wasn’t too strict about the form. He advised that you can have an extra syllable or two as long as the poem sounded right. If the sound was off, then a re-write was in order. He also said it was important to see the world with new eyes and to write down the present moment.
Three Haikus
Here are three Haikus that I wrote that I would like to share with you.
The monk stumbles from
The Black Mountain Demon’s Cave
To find the world one bright pearl.
The sound of the dragon
Singing in the withered tree
Comes to my ear.
The empty boat returns
From its long Journey abroad
Full of moonlight.
Ghost Dog 