The Hinklewatt Berry

The Hinklewatt Berry grows high in a tree

Way up in the mountains of Bangeladee.

Its blossom is rare, quite a sight to behold,

A beauty seen only by travelers bold.

For just once a year does it give off its fruit,

Which tastes a bit like an old moth-eaten suit.

What good can there be from a taste so off-putting?

It's great, so they say, for a chimney de-sooting.

Classic Poem #3: What Christmas is Not

In times such as these, full of holiday cheer,

A jolly old man and eight tiny reindeer,

It's best to remember what Christmas is not,

Lest we forget to remember what it is we forgot..

With thousands of twinkling lights all around,

With trees in the houses and snow on the ground,

With specials on TV and eggnog for all,

We're swept up in joy from the first day of Fall.

The closets all packed with presents on the shelves,

The lawns decorated with miniature elves,

The fireplace crackling with chestnuts and such,

All fill us with glee, quite lots and quite much.

But please, if you will, do remember one thing,

One thing very 'portant, one thing I do sing;

This season is nice, it fills us with bliss,

But if Christ hadn't come, it wouldn't exist.

So do not forget, in the midst of this fuss,

Who came down to earth and gave us Christmas.

Give props to the Lord for his Son he done sent,

And stock up on cookies, for quite soon, 'twill be Lent.

Classic Poem #1: Help!

Someone help me, please!

I am stuck in a haiku

And I can't get out!

Caution

A tale of caution you won't want to miss:

Beware of surroundings when taken by bliss,

Since hard is recovery when you screw up like this:

To smootch someone's nostril when you lean in to kiss...

In Need of Moisturizer...

Tonight I walk out in the dark.

The air, it lacks the song of lark.

Within my heart, a tiny spark,

But my skin is dry as pine tree bark...

Thirteen Below, v2.0

We go to the snow when it's thirteen below...

Why we go when it's so cold, we don't really know.

I fret at the wet squishy feeling I get

When I walk in my socks, 'cause I lost some dumb bet.

Then a fox ate my socks as they dried on the rocks.

And now my poor toes are feeling cold shocks.

Thirteen Below

We go to the snow when it's thirteen below,

And high up above the stars give a show.

The trees and the seas of old leaves dance with glee,

And the peace carries on just as far as I can see.

Haiku Defense

A haiku, good sir,

Is not an easy way out.

It's an art form. K?

No, really, it is.

Seriously. No joking.

I give these much thought.

Take, for example,

These little haikus right here;

One minute to write.

That's a lot of work.

And now I'm very tired.

Good night, fair chipmunk.

Dramatic Haiku

Dramatic haiku

Ends with a long ellipsis

Dot dot dot dot dot.

Mischievous Elf

The little elf upon my shelf looked down upon my head.

"What lovely hair the thing has there," the little elf then said.

Then with a leap, without a peep, the elf jumped off the shelf.

And two dents now adorn my brow, the markings of the elf.

Too many possibilities.

To shoo the blue cue from the dew-filled canoe,

Just woo the zoo shoe goo without a kazoo.

(words I couldn't work in this time around: rue, slew, glue, spew, boo, knew, drew, hue, bamboo, achoo, Baloo.)

Ice Rink

Me thinks it doth stink to coat well the ice rink,

In salts and thick malts, bringing my skates to a halt.

Esrever

,lliw uoy fi ,em wollA

,llits gnisufnoc erom eb oT

,esrever ni gnitirw yB

.esrev elttil ylevol sihT

Before the yester-dawn.

If only I could see

How through to left it be,

I might chance just be gone

Before the yester-dawn.

But then would he be me,

Or I be them then we?

I wonder what good do

Whilst in the through and through.

Argyle Sock Advice (in Haiku form)

Argyle socks smell bad

When worn for too many hours.

Trust me on this one.

Perhaps more effort is needed?

Once upon a time,

There lived a tiny goon.

One day he realized,

He needed him a spoon.

The end?

Blatant Words of Wisdom

There are some who have said,

"To live is to be alive."

To them I shake my head,

and think, "Really? How obvious is that?"

Long day haiku.

Eyes dry as desert.

Mind wandering from work now.

Bed can't come too soon...

A cue the sea.

Igloo a you,

Igloo a me,

Igloo a them,

Tissue a key.

Perchance a view,

Ooo prance a bee,

They dance ago,

A cue the sea.

Glue

I know.

I know.

You said not to go.

But I had to.

I had to.

I ran out of glue.

And now,

And now,

I've managed somehow--

--Disgraced--

--Disgraced--

To glue my hands to my face...

Kazoo

I blew and I blew

Into the kazoo

Until I just knew

That my face had turned blue.

"Well this just won't do,"

Thought I myself to.

Yet I did continue...

And passed out right on cue.

Some pointless haiku.

I heart the airport.

It's true, yo, I really do.

It's very shiny.

I heard a seashell.

It sounded like the ocean.

Then it bit my lobe.

O lark just outside,

You sing a song of such joy.

But please, let me sleep!

Utter a word now.

Okay, now utter one more.

Ha! You said two words!

The last line shall be

Made up of only one word:

Hippopotamus.

Tacos at Midnight

In deepest green and lonely land,

Across the shores of grass,

A secret sits, run down and old,

Beneath the starry mass.

It waits till dark, then comes alive.

A beacon in the night.

And those within the privilaged know,

Flock to its twinkling light.

It has no sign, just flashing bulbs

On walls of peeling paint.

Most wouldn't look a second glance,

Or even call it quaint.

But deep within this tiny shack

Awaits a glorious sight.

The best late snack you'd ever taste.

Called, "Tacos At Midnight."

1853

The dust flew high,

The heads hung low,

As the folks in town all watched him go.

A man with steel,

A man with tin,

And fearless, with no next of kin.

What good he'd been,

What things he'd done,

Such honor for the town he'd won.

Now all was well

And he was gone,

A westward race against the dawn.

He would be missed,

But each one knew

The things undone he had to do.

So on he rode,

Into the night,

To find that dog and set things right...

This Great Place

They knew not where or when they were,

Or how they came to be.

They only knew the shadow's cool

Beneath the cherry tree.

Like broken glass the meadow's grass

Shone bright beneath the sun.

Yet cricket songs among the throngs

Of trees said day was done.

To venture out, to venture in,

They were not keen to go.

But then a girl began to twirl,

First quick and then quite slow.

Then off she ran across the land

Into the wild beyond.

And found that day a place to play

Around a lily pond.

Then one, then two, without a shoe,

The rest began the race.

To find just who, like me and you,

They were in this great place.

Sea Tea

One day I stood beneath the sea.

The view was not too great.

I pondered life while sipping tea,

Perched on a lobster crate.

A unicorn with fins ran by,

His wake a cloud of silt.

Then trampled he before my eye

The castle I had built.

I fretted not, for it had been

Quite little more than sand.

Of it, I'd not been all too keen,

So still remained my hand.

Then with a roar the creature ran

Straight at me, it would seem.

I waited with my frying pan,

But woke first from my dream.

A shame, it was, to see the sea

Vanish before my eyes.

But better is the view I see

Of morning's bright blue skies.

Just last May

One day just last May

As I walked through the hay

Of a farm not too far from my home,

I turned round to learn

Just how deep the heart yearns

For a nice, stainless steel new comb.

The breeze in the trees

Brushed the grass 'gainst my knees

And my hair tossed and turned in the fray,

So I ran the wide span

Of the field with a plan

to go visit the barber that day.

Yeti?

What, pray-tell, is a yeti?

A moster donned in spaghetti?

A bowl of red-colored confetti?

Perhaps it's a marmalade dip.

Perchance an unused Q-tip.

A high diver's double backflip?

Free Verse! (or as I like to call it, Prose with too many line breaks!)

I wonder sometimes.

Could one?

Could another?

Why or why not?

It isn't fair, you know.

It makes no sense to me.

Because

Because

Because....

Because why?

Forget it.

I'll just put the forks on the left.

Some blue people

"I crave and I crave,"

Said the tickled blue knave,

"Yet thirst, it wanes not

from the efforts I gave."

"'Tis true, 'tis true,"

Said the king, also blue,

"And you'll never be full

Whilst you wear the wrong shoe."

Crumbs

Sometimes I wonder...

Just how many crumbs

Get lost every day,

Flicked away by our thumbs.

If one were to gather

Them all in one place,

Could you climb up the pile

And touch outer space?

Oops

Marmalade soups.

I forgot to blog. Oops.

Pajama decked troops.

Taupe ice cream scoops?

Cooking Advice Haiku

A cookie. A sock.

Two very different items

That taste bad when mixed.

Gesundheit

Eegat

Lawoogus

--arciple too--

Spelunk

Thiodenum

--Wazat a choo--

Cookie

A lot, a little, too much and too few,

Some big, some small, some yellow, some blue.

With sprinkles and sugar and frosting aplenty,

Are the cookies at Christmas, and I could eat twenty.

A Contemplative Haiku

I can think, I think.

I'm pretty sure that I can.

Now what to think of...

Good Galen

The Groggle and Vimir did play a dark game

As they rompled and jumpered along the street main.

Swing round and swing to, went the cavered canoe,

'Fore it struck with a thwack upon good Galen's shoe.

"What for?" cried the Vimir. "What who and why how?"

But Galen spoke not as he furrowed his brow.

Then pittered and pattered small feet went away

At sound of the show down 'tween dark night and day.

Quite heavy and thick hung the scent of hard pine.

And a distant cricket cried beneath twisted twine.

A pebble, a murmur, a bubble, then none,

Where a silence now hung till the battle were done.

First Groggle did gimper and scurry and hide,

Whilst the Vimir grew twenty and thirty feet wide.

Black clouds and white tree trunks scarce shadowed the scene,

Then shrunk did good Galen to the size of a bean.

"Galumph," swalled the Vimir as he downed his mite foe.

Then echoes of teardrops fell round the deep snow.

The Groggle and Vimir traullumped and hallayed

Yet with crackle and sizzle they burst their charade.

A harrowing sound and a furrowing bang

Went voices immense in the song that they sang.

The Groggle and Vimir burst once and twice more.

And good Galen returned to the cobblestone floor.

A fissure of cloud did that morning then see

With dawn peeking down on Galen's victory.

Then song broke the way through the settling air

And ne'er were forgotten the happiness there.

When I awoke

I can't say all went well today,

But I guess things could be worse,

When I think of how things started

With that awful pinkish purse...

I woke to find it on my head,

That pink monstrosity.

Its feathery straps hung o're my eyes,

Which made it hard to see.

I pulled it off as I sat up

And stared at it, bemused.

But one quick glance around my room

Would leave me so much more confused.

A purse of pink upon my head,

was strange, no doubt, but still,

quite stranger yet was the kangaroo

perched on my windowsill...

To Be Continued...

Frogs

If I were an egg with a top hat and gloves,

a shovel and doughnuts and pencils and doves,

perhaps I would question the how's and the why's

of frogs and their dancing beneath butterflies.

A haiku to start:

Your bacon is up,

But your pancakes are not here.

Epic cake quest time!