One last wretched crouching tiger
Hidden by a field of fetching grass so tall
All that vetch and rice in China which has relevantly spoiled
All those drunk and dying birds that stagger and infinitely fall
All that lean Amazon beef gleaned from jungle that greedy men have soiled
All that boiled ocean fish so enriched with canned mercury
All those poisoned streams and crammed with plastic rivers
All those blind politicians and egocentric preachers steeped by perjury
All those stitched-up elk and moose with corrupted livers
All those eco-remnants the world weeps for with this fatal injury
All those bleak and testy sunsets so strange they make us shiver
That one lone wild rhino so meek and quivering
Every blatant night I watch the bitter moon cringe and cry
We can't educate the failing sea when it refuses to atone
Every blinking star might similarly choose to disappear
Shrinking nature lastly delivered by some shrieking memory alone
Every engaging day shall go blind with stinking rage and fear
Every flirt and irksome prayer will surely go unheard
As the world shirks and turns to darkness by and by
No matter how petrified we seem or what we finally try.

Haiku Saturday


Steamy rhetoric

Politics is a grudge match

Voting for our choice

     - - - - - 

Awake or asleep
 
Bliss and pain in that same vein

True love or true hate

   - - - - - - -

I rip out each page

I burn ev'ry syllable

My mind wants relief

     - - - - - 

 This raging ocean

Sticks and stones will break us

We all bleed the same

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Stewie's Haiku

Mum mum mum mum mum 

Mummy mummy mummy mum

Mummy mummy mum

My mother keeps telling me,
I've lived a hard life,
All those years alone,
Years living in my teepee,
Living alone in squats and shacks,
All those lonely winters roaming in the bush,
So many long lonely winters,
All those cold nights in cabins,
Dreaming about some one,
Day dreams of foreign women,
Girls that never paid me any attention,
Attractive women that I yearned for,
All those lovely gals that couldn't have cared less,
All those frigid starry nights,
Sucking up welcome heat from my crackling woodstove,
My dogs my only companions,
My mother has told me I've lived a hard life,
All my fears and overwhelming tears,
Burying my dead dogs,
Burying my living emotions,
Burying my broken dreams,
Next to my broken heart,
So many graves and prayers,
My mother tells me I've lived a hard life,
So many lonely years in the wilderness,
So many long trails leading me to some other lonely place,
All my lonely memories,
All my terrible fears and rampant streams of lonely tears,
My mother knows I've lived a lonely life,
All those days and nights alone,
Sick at times with fever and hunger and yearning,
Days without a copper penny or a wooden nickel in my pocket,
Nights when a million dollars and a bottle of whiskey couldn't have bought me happiness,
My old mother sees me from a distance,
My loneliness exacerbated for being far apart,
Hidden away from a world of friends and human companionship,
I've seen those brilliant Northern Lights,
So bright they lit up the snowy ground,
I've witnessed the autumn moon wax and wane,
Blamelessly crossing the lonesome sky,
I've heard the midnight owl call my name,
I've seen great bears popping their big teeth,
Growling importantly while I held my ground,
I've had stealthy mountain lions stalk me,
Snarling at me from several yards away,
While I held my spartan breath,
I've had tart women shun my starts and advances,
While I held my heart in my parted hands,
I've experienced testy freezing wind,
Winter arresting me at 69 degrees below zero,
My old mother sighs thinking about my lonesome life,
I'm reminded of a trio of little mice mincing away,
Nibbling raw oats from a scintillating dish,
Once placed beside my bed so I might watch them eat,
Winkin Blinkin and Nod nestled side by side,
Chewing contentedly away,
Shadows dancing on the sleek teepee liner,
A flickering flame contained under the globe of my bleak kerosene lamp,
I've had my whitetail deer friends come and camp,
Tramping without brakes to take wilted apples from my open hand,
I've heard slate tree frogs croaking their little songs,
A fate chorus on a window sill of my one room cabin,
I've hearkened to generations of rascally Red squirrels,
Chattering away just outside my cabin door,
I've marveled at those Black and Cinnamon bears,
Coming to rummage and rumble around my cabin porch,
I've observed myriads of shooting stars,
Streaking helpless across a clear night sky,
I've loaded my rifle when it seemed danger was near,
I've traveled on my own,
Tens of thousands of miles without fear,
Roaming back and forth,
Crossing Earth's zonal equator,
Forth and back again,
Roaming across vast foaming oceans,
Searching for companionship,
Searching for love,
Searching for some thing,
Yet I haven't found,
All that glorious lost gold,
All those notorious lost dreams,
All those sorry lost years,
On my storied own,
All irrelevantly alone,
Still conveniently alone,
My mother tells me I've lived a hard and lonely life.

What colour are my scratched out words?
How much does each white detached syllable weigh?
What mix of black, white, brown and yellow does spectrum afford?
So many summer thoughts and winter emotions I equally wish to convey,
Does every spring rainbow have a segregated ribbon of quality light attached?
If autumn poetry were quintessential food what would each defining colour say?
I wonder if coloured words should be qualified or matched?
If human language finally turns purple and orange on every page,
If quaint nature finally steals away every natural and sacred patch,
Will coloured words want to make war on nature's changing stage?
If we wake speaking in tongues what colour would humans freely attach?
Black and white letters familiarly connected in black and white mete,
Such a linguistic spectrum quaveringly discordant and quiveringly ratcheted,
Queer words hatcheting truth and smothering lies in grey concrete,
Quid quo pro preaching colourless dialect and bland foreign accents,
Bleached out words spoken on quiescent corners of every mnemnomic street.

Haiku Wednesday

Active volcano
Sending smoke signals sky high
Sakurajima

     - - - - - 

You have failed us
You so called leaders of the world
Your greed and horrors

   - - - - - - - 

Guru or Swami
If Jesus would have grown up
He would have laughed more

     - - - - - 

Who will be drumming?
When Zealandia rises
Who will make fire?

   - - - - - - - 

Go gently my friend
Into death's dream where we wake
Enlightened and free

August 15, 1958

You were six
What a hot bossy day
When you were six
Our family hike up that cross canyon trail
You were six
That coming fall you would be starting school
When you were six
I remember your pretty face
You were six
I remember boss terror in your eyes
When you were six
Fate crossed us as you fixed on me
You were six
I was the last thing you saw
When you were six
Clutched in my horrified mother's arms
You were six
You both were seized and tossed in that frigid swell
When you were six
Swept away over that bossy eighty foot waterfall
You were six
Icy rushing water with its cross kiss of death
When you were six
My unflossed memory of such fear in your eyes
You were six
I was only four
When you were six
Me standing on the mossy edge of that raging torrent
You were six
I remember boss horror fixed on our mother's face
When you were six
That instant as you both plunged over that unforgivable edge
You were six
No lost memories of that tragic moment and I recall speaking
When you were six
"If I were Superman I would save you"
You were six
Our older sister screaming
When you were six
She was eight
When you were six
What a hot August day in those rugged Rocky Mountains
You were six
August tragedy up costly Johnston canyon
When you were six
I remember terror crowding your angel face
You were six
That last lost thing you saw
When you were six
One last second staring into each other's eyes
You were six
I still toss and dream of you
When you were six
You're still attached to my accosted soul
You were six
Now I'm a mossy sixty-five
You were only six.

my eyes
my open eyes
i wake
i stir and wake
my lungs
my needy lungs
i breathe
i inhale and breathe
my feet
my naked feet
such sharp cinders
those burning embers
hot sand 
hot sand beneath my bare feet
my arms
my empty arms
wanting to hold you
longing to hold you
my mouth
my open mouth
so dry
so parched and dry
no love songs
no happy poems
all those empty words
my heart
my broken heart
wanting to love you
waiting to love you
my pursed lips
my parched lips
wanting to kiss you
needing to kiss you
the sun
the moon
the planets
our needy hearts
the careless wind has blinded us
the heartless wind has swept love away
my mind
my mind
my sorry mind