Haiku – A Reminder
She who lives
Worrying on death
Forgets life
Tag Archives: Poetry
Older than Jung
Lean inwards, inwards
Rummage around your imagination
The back of the cupboard where you can’t see
But where all the most interesting things
Linger
The deeper you get,
The dustier
The mustier
The moldier
The rustier
Rotten things which crumble in your hands
Hold them reverently, or lose them.
A bat skeleton, tiny, frail, bones like needles
A toy car, flaking paint, tacky orange grease
A tin of crumbly letters
Written in your grandmother’s hand
Newspaper cutouts but why
Index cards of recipes gone by.
Keep going further, if you dare
Deeper, deeper
Blindly fumble
Something might bite you
Or you might uncover
A mystery covered in tar
A peat moss mummy
An old god, carved
A thing hearkening back to the dawn of humanity
A thing so true it has remained
In the back cabinets of minds for generations
Safe from the light.
You know they are there
Though you try very hard to forget.
Titled
Who left this page empty!
How irresponsible.
We’d better fill the space with words
So that when we close it and leave
It has something to listen to
And won’t get lonely.
Haiku – Sleeping In
The morning sunlight
blissfully tangles itself
In your sleeping hair
nearly transparent
your fingertips lit through
warm orange blown glass
Hat Tricks, etc
every person is a joy
…to varying degrees
Contrary to my reputation, I am actually very likable.
Every day when she comes in she does a new hat trick
In an effort to make the receptionist smile
All tricks are met with stony faces
The tricks get more and more extravagant
She acquires a cane
She throws ten, twenty feet high
She bows
She draws a few spectators, regulars every morning to watch the trick
But never does she draw a smile from her target
One day she doesn’t come in
Another second day passes, she won’t answer the phone
They call the police
Who break in to find her
Wrists slit
Two days dead.
When the receptionist hears,
All she has to say is
“I knew she was fucking crazy.”
Sarah D. Silvey 