Terrified screaming.
As I see you nekkid ass.
Bleach my memory.
First line
Second line
WTF is Haiku
First five syllables
Then it's seven syllables
Then it's five again
Like this:
Subterranean
Histomorphological
Choreographer
A very good haiku, No one, but punctuation is not your strength. Without punctuation, you might be mistaken for an artist.
My black hole
As the Abos say -
An artist newborn
All this talk of assholes would make you think that we were talking about God and the Devil.
about last night,
I couldn't sleep because
you weren't there.
Haiku's done five-seven-five
or otherwise.
No one, I just can't get over how good that first poem of yours is.
I will promote your poem, No one, until someone else replies.
They keep demoting you, and I will continue promoting you.
Haiku is not musical,
it is magical.
Senryu is haiku,
but haiku is not senryu -
it makes sense really.
There is virtually no rules
in haiku. You cannot go
too far astray.
alone - dero, bum
Haiku is short, sharp and sweet.
Haiku is a humanism.
Fade to Grey...
One man cannot face so much
Ignorance alone.
This thread should be in the Art section.
First class flight canceled,
Two economy flights instead,
Suicide - an option.
my flight cancelled -
no escape, no exit, no
way out of my mind
about last night,
I was too on edge about
the next day to sleep
properly.
about last night,
eating eggs at midnight -
I am a glutton.
stravinsky is
on at full volume and thats
just how i like it.
Music plays in
the background which is better
than full-on silence.
about last night,
I slept and alas you appeared
in my dreams.
Life best suits
the lover and their loves,
for life is loving.
Death is a slow decline through
melancholy into despair.
last night, I thought of dreaming
but nightmares crept over me
as I slept.
last night, while sound asleep,
my bumpers (cigarette butts) were pinched.
Apparently, I am now the supplier of tobacco to the entire local Aboriginal community.
Time after time,
I think of quitting the smokes.
Time after time, I don't.
Sitting outside at night
having a smoke - a bloody
noisy bandicoot - shit.
what do bandicoots sound like?
Bandicoots just scurry around on their little paws.
The bandicoot dare
Scurry here then scurry there.
With your paws so fair
A dead bandicoot
Another dog offering
I Didn't want a dog
bandicoot in my backyard
disturbing the peace and quiet,
much like me.
Backyard disturbance
Oh, it's that Marcus again
Peace and quiet, gone
You certainly have this haiku stuff down pat, No one.
I have my moments
Appreciate the kudos
Now I'm overwhelmed
kudos deserved
for those moments of clarity
that serve you well
Pulls reverse kudos
Mister A, here's some for you
Some Vegemite too
Eating Vegemite
is better than starving to
death, it must be said.
I prefer Vegemite to Marmite. Taste is virtually the same but Vegemite has a nicer texture, more buttery.
Vegemite vs. Marmite.
It is all black shit to me.
Cyril Callister.
In nineteen twenty two, made
Some other black shit.
Cyril Callister. The bastard to blame
for Vegemite which is made
from "brewer's waste".
Happy little Vegemites
eating the shit of beer.
Is Vegemite good for you?
They say it is, but who's they?
about last night,
restless as usual.
Haiku. Unusual.
Japanese poets
Now commit hair kari
Because of this thread
I don't feel like killing myself.
I don't feel like much of anything.
How does it go
skinny fat and slim
I could so kill him
Time to die.
about last night,
I rested for a time
upon sleep.
8) 8) 8)
Quote from: The Magic Pudding. on June 14, 2023, 01:17:02 PMHow does it go
skinny fat and slim
I could so kill him
Thank you, Puddin' Pie, for the rare insight into the quality of your thinking.
About today and tomorrow,
The Magic Pudding will still hate me.
As much as all things change, some forever, truth never dies.
The pursuit of truth
makes for the greater part
of happiness.
The lesser part of being
happy is knowing truth to be.
I think that I went deep,
too deep. I think that I dug
myself a grave.
The truth to be told
The happiness of warm guns
Thawing hearts so cold
I loved her but she did
not love me, and that was that.
mental disease
Of the gravest proportions
That is what love is
I am mentally ill
because I love women with
a passion.
You are quite insane
But the blaming of women
Is truly just nuts
Perhaps you're right
but I had a breakdown
because I was in
two minds about
abortion.
It's a kyoka. Syllable counts don't count .
Too deep again.
I was writing a letter
that I never got right.
Marc scroll Ma scroll
M scroll M Scroll M Scroll
Someone else ah! read
Quote from: The Magic Pudding. on June 21, 2023, 03:00:36 AMMarc scroll Ma scroll
M scroll M Scroll M Scroll
Someone else ah! read
No-one is forcing you to be here.
A little dog is a bit whiffy,
A big dog does big turds.
Poem for Marcus
And flowers for Algernon
Something about turds
Mice are meek and whiffy.
It's a bit iffy to keep mice.
My poetry is just shit.
Haiku. Gesundheit.
Shitty poetery
Some blessings are in disguise
Accidentally
Some poems just make you ill.
Some deliberately,
Some accidentally.
Poetry is having something to do.
Reading gives me something to do.
The light bulb glowing on
leads to the toilet.
As Jack Kerouac said, roughly,
Moonlight follows our path
whether the same or different.
Will I ever write proper? Probably not.
Brevity burns with the light
of mindless dribbling idiots aflame.
On creativity,
puritans of plastic
choking the seas.
Plastic poetry is artificial,
pure artifice out of orifices.
Snot, Shit, Vomit.
It is all the same
in the mix.
About last night,
I remember nothing of
my dreams - that's good.
Here is a haiku.
It is not much of anything,
it goes nowhere.
About last night,
a poem came into my head
and was gone.
Haiku is the capturing
of a verse in flight.
Haiku is real, real magic.
About last night,
the Devil came to laugh
at me. God collected him.
Haiku translates as low verse, and I don't know how much lower I can go.
Haiku is a dream
When not much else is.
The wonders of
of a godless world.
Bliss on dearest earth.
Haiku. Gesundheit.
I am hardly ever serious;
But when I am, I am quiet.
Most people can't count syllables, so why bother?
Haijin, what dreams may come.
What is real in this floating world?
The last poem is about a world full of dreamers.