Haiku Hullabaloo

One woven haiku
Seventeen metric inches
A poetic game.

Pink is the flower

A whim a thought a token

Bubblegum friendship.

Salivating dog
A wagging tail excitement
A bone appetit.

In the wee morn hours

Sleep hides in my dreams alight

Toss and turn rhythm.

God with a capital G

God with a capital G

As time was nine and I was forever
I knew one thing and everything
that I liked playing alone in closets
that I wasn't afraid of the thespian plot
that I couldn't be stopped in mid-sentence
that I found misnomers charming
that tragedy hung on the edges of curtains

But add nine and I knew nothing
accept that people are strange
except how to balance my checkbook
except that we infringe upon reason
except that my life spins on an axis
except that light is full of shadow
except that butterflies are fragile

-- except that we emulate everything but God

Snake Eyes

My dad had the most bizarre dream. He was having a foot-slog w/ his uncle thru the meadows and dells when they came upon a man catching snakes in a serpentine river. His uncle said he was going to help because it was a gratifying day. Dad stopped quick as if the indistinguishable snakes became his spine, and said solicitously, "you can't get in that water w/ all them snakes." His uncle proceeded, undeterred and unafraid, down the bank into the murky water like a warrior snake junkie. Although dad had a snake phobia, and his mantra had always been, "I hate snakes," he had a strange urge to cross to the other side of the sinewy river; one being a fugitive from oneself. So his uncle suggested that he would piggyback him across, albeit thru a calm temperament. He was holding a snake and dad said, "you have to drop that damn snake first." His venerable uncle replied, "it's dead, it won't hurt you." Cautiously, dad hopped up on his back and to his utter shock, the snake wickedly lunged and bit him on his big toe. In paroxysms of rage, he was screaming, "get it off, get it off."

During removal, indeed "a most dangerous game", it swung around and got him on the hand too, like a calculated deja vu of sibilated hiss. Venom arched thru his aggrieved veins like hot embers of lava; it was the bite of forbidden fruit. They, in a clumsy and nervous manner, rushed him to the hospital, where his leg started changing colors like a crystal prism. The staff were lackadaisical in responding so he moaned w/ cognoscente appeal, "can we put a little hurry on it so that my heart doesn't stop?" With outright hesitation, they finally started to examine him and said, "we'll have to put you under for the procedure." With tremulous fear, he demanded to know why. They said, "because we'll have to peel the skin back and pour vinegar in you leg."

Luckily he awoke before the remedy, before the untangling of Medusa's hair. However, upon waking, his arm was hurting and he searched for fang marks. He asked me why we have crazy dreams. I said, "I think they're intended to relieve stress." Or maybe it's latent manifestations of our mental abyss, w/ depths that we aren't supposed to access nor figure out. Problem is that when we remember our dreams, it's like a crazy-meter alarm clock that we wake to. And for now, he only wants to dream of a nice fitting pair of snakeskin boots.

A Pint in a Dark Room

I quenched my thirst for two months at the London College of Printing, intact w/ an enlarged head and magnifying-glass-eye. And after class, my accomplices and I, in our black taxis and under the white Waterloo moon, would hang our modest works on the backs of barstools at the nearest pub, which the name escapes me now, but was probably something like "The Shakespeare's Head" or something more modest like "The Slug and the Lettuce." I would love to have a dark room, complete w/ a little red bulb, a timer and fragrances of developing chemicals, but I have to buy the Austin Healey first.

The Bat Night Moon Circles on All Hallows' Eve

sleepwalking thru a corn maze
where skeletons and scarecrows
play rugby w/ carved pumpkins
and apparitions keep score
while witches watch witchy
and their black cats find sleep
under tree-limbed gargoyles

Roman Number Time

On a Roman junket, I rented a red & black Italian scooter w/ a tag that read "Dante9" -- and on a Dramamine high, I weaved in and out of traffic along w/ all the other whining purrs of small stroke engines just so I could be first at the light. What a green-light anticipation I felt coursing thru my sight-seeing elation. I passed Harry's Bar on Via Veneto where Fellini filmed La Dolce Vita in stylistic grandeur, sped thru the Piazza di Spagna where fashion converges in a trinity of parallel streets, where Bvlgari and the queen of cashmere dwell, circled the ancient Coliseum where they crucified martyrs for spectator jolly, and steadied myself in the Vatican mileau in case the Pope stood on Bernini's balcony w/ proclamations of peace and speeches of divine order; speeches typed by an assistente who goes home to sing Puccini while his brethren prepare spaghetti Bolognese w/ Grissini Croccanti al Sesamo. At the return of my two-wheeled chariot, I saluted the Swiss Guard, and I felt bigger in Spirit than ever before. And always I will be inebriated of holy wine.

Birthday Boy is Four Blues in E

They say it's my birthday

I was born a big dog
I was born eating a lot
I like to chase soccer balls
and rabbits that can't be caught

I am too big for my collar
I am spoiled beyond belief
I like to show my smarts
to my masters' full relief

I like long walks
and to be in the lead
smelling and marking
on the grassy seed

I like to do tricks
and turn down the covers
I like to lie on my back
so there's no room for others

I like to be loved
I go crazy w/ my tail
It gets me attention
for I am the Alpha male

They say it's my birthday!