While he stands the watch,
We all would gamble below,
for what was not gold.

And the rain pours down
I'm as worn down as can be
Huddled all alone

Does El know that their
second line contains six beats
do they have a brain?

My hand is writing
Still my mind is thinking more
How does this thing work?

Massive trunk toppled,
wind-torn roots ripped from the earth;
look again - leaves still cling.

Is it hard writing
Five seven five Haiku?
Don't we all have minds?

That ugly baby
So not of my family
We share DNA?

so you have baby?
children, wonders of the world.
autumn is the bomb.

Urban recipes
Mix fast food and organic
In acid reflux

they are rule breakers
not following haiku law
these rebels are lame

why do i sit here
still browsing this bad haiku
i'll close the window

El is a she who
Values peace of mind over
Others opinions

should fortune's lies pass
your hopes could rise from inside
but oh the mind works

The wind beckons
The heart welcomes
The Heavens stand silent

Sun above
Earth below
Smiling children laughing

Anger provides strength
For the self-aware to bring
Peace into being

iaskhimwhyhe
runsthatwaythiswayandthat
sidewalkcracksaregone

El is not mad. Why?
I guess he has not been smeared
by poets on web.

all are angry now
poets say it loud
mutes think it always

Good to find this site
A peaceful delight to write
A disciplined form in light

here I am on site
Why all angry I must ask
poets hate their lives

I write Haiku now;
Sane and quiet eloquence
When I want to scream.

The world needs both types.
Without them, the meek would hide,
never introduced.

Louder types can bring
us out a bit, leading to
new conversations.

We struggled to speak,
which was awkward since we all
preferred listening.

also said introverts
get less introverted when
meeting introverts

ai. the wreckage of
a hurricane of anger
can leave some debris

schizophrenic mind
terrible ghosts and windmills
a calm peaceful breeze

been away a while
and then i came back again
history repeats

The four introverts
huddled together to find
peace in the next room.

Seldom listening,
noisy people talked over
each other and smiled.

robots write haikus
with the wrong number of --
ERROR: Segmentation fault.

youth in love and such
love is eternal and so
bonds us to each other

and I'm still obcessed
with the cannibal corpse album cover idea

young couple fucking
in the next cubicle and
needing to get a room

with your impossible
people in the world, what wrong I
did and what wrong they

did, they did no wrong
and are blind from logs in the eyes
syndrome, which, I have

had at times...till they
are redeemed or empathic
either pity them or

remind them of the cannibal
corpse album cover...

at least KILL doesn't have
a bunch of dead stuff
on the front and all

that sort of music sounds
like cookie monster on acid
I wonder

eating macaroons covered in blood!!!

get back to you on
that and the boy no one would
mourn my death

ah, they wouldn't forget
me either...impossible people
are only useful when

buried 666 feet under you know

there is useless anger
that lashing out with a sense
life fucked me over

and then those who
start it, who try to provoke it will repeat it

point fingers, lurch communism, accusing like satan, then...in the end

like old mccarthy drink
his motherfucking self
to death like he should

have in the first place
save america a lot
of trouble

but there's a point to
clockwork orange, the life leads
to growing up, for in

the end, how can one
make symphonies on the street
with the old ultraviolence

maybe tupac but, we
know how that ended for him
too, tragic and ugly

it's easy to get caught
up in the moment of someone
else's mockery, to smile

and either show mercy
or imagine their skulls cracking open brains leaking out

I did say cannibal corpse didn't i? makes you think
don't it?

song titles like raped with
a razor, so gruesome, to be
honest, is rediculous

is that not the point?
oh, stormbringer? I've
some souls to feed you

why do I have a
strong urge to turn some
people on here into

a literal interpretation
of a cannibal corpse album
cover, rats eating flesh

to sf:

when you die, rather
than someone else, what will your
own last words be?

ouch

to snail:

keep the love up, I
think it will drive these marxist
filth into being

human

san francisco earthquake
angry at the world for not
rebelling, like they do

still you're a part of america
get over it, and live with that fact
unpleasant, resentment

who told me that there
are those who only feel joy
at another's pain?

when I get angry
he smiles with pleasure and shoots up
heroin again, they find

him dead, never knowing
pain because it fucking hurts
in his house of narcissistic

beat pulp pulminary
empty headed liberal dreams
uncreative and angry

we'd be better off
if you could get your head
out of your own ass

so you could see the sun

to sf...

the heckler is the guy
who got away with his ass
not getting kicked too

many times... but in the
end, one will have enough
and they shall carry

your sorry little ass
in a strecther to the hoperittle
where you can get

your clockwork orange
reset to mountain time
666 mark of the beef

I like the feel of
his hands gently guiding me
anywhere he wants.

Our eager bodies
flowed together perfectly,
gracefully touching.

heat waives obscure her
body so hot burns to touch
my cauterized lips

let's do mind control.
you read it. i'm a victim.
doing a backup.

Are you just bitter
because you have nobody
who would dance with you?

Hey bully, let us
engage in harmless chatter.
We're not fighting you.

hey love birds either
shut up or find a chatroom
you are both losers