haikus for men that want them
Alexandria Hotel
anonymous alcoholic
dawn
it starts
bitter thoughts regurgitating
that’s how it begins
spinning gusts of pain appear
that hold me down to drown
fighting back the need to kill off
those words that bind the lies that shelter
self rage bitterness destruction hatred sadness anger doubt trepidation
until the moon in the inky sky releases the essence
of suffering to dreams pulling me deeper into putrid wading pools
struggling to stand on my two feet i raise fists in victory
a Teslaian haiku
that twinkle bursts west
the sea’s reflection lends her
electricity
old woman in casket haiku
the pearls of her eyes
blend all of the life she’s seen
she cups a flower
discarded
the clouds layered gray
throughout this day
watching coupled hands clasped in love
tender are their eyes
looking forward to a future
who won’t surrender to their whims
the old ones long ago bereft of their lover
look the other way
Veronica’s mind
her madness
like hell’s
crossed roads
blacker than
where Holy
doesn’t stay
her pain
like super nova
she too
far into
that left
turn forrest
of life
among the
roads and
fine wines
French perfumes
church luncheons
insanity waits
for her
to step
off that
daily stage
like if
she were
perfectly happy
as the
summer in
a postcard
painted valley
spector
he’s gone beyond not to come back here
no more long letters from Vienna
with sad pictures from Kodak
of a wife left behind
with a sickly child
no where to turn
hope long lost
she fades
ghost
sunset five hours long
hearty moth cornered
gray wings horizontal rest
lantern burning down
in preparation
time sits on the shelves
next to all the dreams
just an index finger’s length
out of reach
her side of the wall
sustains the portraiture
of her bloodline
his side the world’s articles of hate
never knowing of each other
going about their life
the wall that separates them both
in between the unseen darkness waits for them
patiently there void of light
and when that time marches from its sitting place again
to guide their souls into the other world
the ego skin from them will finally be shed
when she was
stillness has a home among ashes of dead flowers past
old dust only remnants left of her
here in this room of austerity supple cries still cling to the remnants of the time when she was
when her bird died or when her heart got broken to know he had been taken from her in a muddy field cold with rain and damned with fire
madness ensued and she never knew that her name was the last on his longing lips
words less spoken 