We’ve parted in spirit
Though we still email daily
Where once we were all flirtation
Now the air is stale with grey ash
Help me help you
A little humor might help
No weather speak though
I’m out of razors and my car is in the shop
A poet
who says no to a thought
or denies an impulse
to start
pouring forth,
is not a poet at all,
but a fool
and a coward.
A poet
that censors the psyche
or strangles the soul’s
attempt
to release,
is not a poet, but
a bureaucrat
and a gum in the works.
A poet
that ignores intuition
or stops at a crescendo,
is not a poet, but
a killer of music
and murderer of art.
A poet
that loses the rhythm
or screws up the template
just on the verge
of hitting the high note,
is not a poet, but
a masochist
and a sadist
and a freak
and a future aborted.
More at http://17numa.wordpress.com/.
forgotten troubles drift
in the cold tsunami
winter sunset
More at https://twitter.com/Haikuintraining.
There is the never-ending
story, cause and effect,
how they were killed,
which community they belong to,
these are never-ending
stories which are called
narratives, fables, myths
and repositories of media news. Let’s go and report
these fascinating facts
build analogies, anachronisms as they happen creating untold truth,
writing our searing
memories away in old-fashioned armchairs, throwing those precious
brickbats at one another.
This is hype. Newspaper reports, media newscasts.
The other is type.
Death in earthquakes, floods, famine.
In these stories we do not
worry, as we have less control.
Human beings after all are not perfect.