Wind and rain and
shivering at the bus stop.
The end of summer?

people are a drag
a distraction, not evil
just, not like me...so

it's hard to relax
sometimes, introversion
90210

I am also told
that the harder one fights then
the other fights back

good for sex, bad for poetry

to stroke ego is
masturbation posing
as sacred artwork

a scythe, for harvest
cutting down old growth for fall
colors appear flat

what worth is this
site anyhow, what value
do any of you have?

to lose self in the
winds of emotion to be
tossed by human tides

some people give up and
when they are gone, and I want
you to get lost you

stick around when you
wouldn't give me your time or
space, and it repeats...

the slap on the back
of the car,the fool does not
repent, he's stupid

a period of
loss often leaves empty
the sense of the self

i fear in anger
and frustration i will snap
and hurt someone if

if I don't know how to
fight socially, it seems like here people use their snobbery and elite natures
as a weapon to put down others period, just because they can, and real violence is a real choice,acting in a way one cannot resist

I can't be violent, I don't want to be

but for years i say
and repeat myself, and so
take me as I am

i will not change

the artifcats of
argument go no where and
end in spiration

angered or ignored
ignored is better, impose
dispose, pass on, no

some people retain
a judgemental void which is
the realm of the clique

I mean would you fight
back or shut the hell up and
stop reacting, how

\i find myself in
distraction, who's face do i
right hook first hardly

I find that in a
realm of ego, there is no
room for haiku thoughts

judgment, control, pride
demons in secure lockdown
tatted up workout

i remember feet
covered in blood and feeling
drunk without the joy

old but not boring
there's no accounting for taste
there is for haiku

no apologies
great internet warrior
the boring old guard

not a lycanthrope
but indolent cannibal
the flesh doth await

saliva drenched fangs
crave autumnal equinox
and a harvest moon

Critic of critique?
Bullshit paradox, bs.
Fear hall of mirrors.

respect tradition
syllable counting purist
declares a jihad

perfect hole in bread
the void filled with white and yolk
eggy basket for anyone?

its a cocktail dress
laying crumpled on the floor
no longer a form

glenn miller playing
somewhere shes fixing her hair
im in the mood

apartment hallway
a fading chance for love
think fast

sweat like a bastard
a detective in san juan
moisture on his lapel

stares longingly
"regale me with summers tale"
green eyes welling up

sorrow of the spectre
fought hard against the rector
beaten by inspector

steven falls to the floor
tears shed for all mankind
blood on his shinpads

investing your words
seasonally adjusted
can create interest

Should Haiku mention
a season such as summer
to be a Haiku?

effortless romance
wined, dined, bodies so entwined
now where are my pants

it's hard to resist
the allure of self-pity
but that gets old too

in my senescence
there's physical unpleasance
and obsolescence

with animal style
delectable juices run
fist full of napkins

The instructions say:
'Bad Haiku: (necessary)'
I try to comply

if you could tackle
go for the knees.. i say knees
make it a good one

the words are just words
urchins on a jungle gym
testing their own strength

desire overwhelms
as playful banter excites
wet knife twists within

it's a new day when
the kid smiles, and the old ways
might just get tossed out

remember, bathwater...
not baby, bathwater...just
the bathwater

well, those who forget
to value life, sf, don't
really value themselves

it's kind of pathetic
to be a critical art major
when the only art is artless

there's real folks on the
other end of life unseen
good luck to you all

two separate holes
one identical outcome
more waste for the worms

birth is just one day
then you have them forever
i'm not sure that helps