I couldn’t write anything good last night because cats. So here are some silly 3/5/3 haikus I was playing around with.
Birthday cake
Candle porcupine
We love you.
Gorilla
Can’t fit into pants
Man or beast?
Dog flaps ears
Animals do talk
We are deaf
Hostess frowns
Looks askance at me
I farted.
I don’t know what’s going on here. I got so serious about the last one I had to draw something dumb this time. What do you suppose this warlock is up to?
This stemmed from a conversation me and my friends had in a group text.
I am blessed to have the most interesting and creative friends, and our conversations are always something else.
Cowdog Creatives (Hannah) took this picture and sent it to our text group, saying how dramatically it died in the last ray of sunlight.
Another friend said it looked like an Italian opera singer, declaring in song his long-unspoken love to the fair Limoncello with his final breath.
I can’t write opera, but I can write melodramatic sonnets, so I had to join in poking fun at this roach’s dramatic death.
It’s OK to cry.
Fair Lemoncello, golden wings and thighs
No weeping from those scintillating eyes.
I am content that you have heard me speak;
No grief should mar the shine upon that cheek.
What warmth is this that causes my love worry?
A ray of sunlight, yet I cannot scurry.
It lays bare all my tender love for thee.
There is no fear where Lemoncello be.
There’s nothing more to say. My soul is clear.
I cannot stay, my insect queen, to hear
Thy chirped response; angelic though you be
A darker angel draws now near to me.
I do not mind death’s amply lit approach.
Today this nymph developed into roach.
I want this thing in my throat
To grow legs and crawl out of me
I want it to wander the world
And learn wisdom
I want it to ponder the mysteries of the universe
I want it to talk with sages
About God and the meaning of life.
I want it to meet lots of other things with legs.
I want it to go on a shonen training arc.
I want it to come home to me
Wiser, stronger
Fierce brave and bold
I want to see its journeys in its demeanor
I want to be proud of it
Right down to my bones
And I can call it my son
And it will know I am its mother
And then
I can wrap it in a tissue
And flush it down the toilet
But only
After it’s lived a full, full life.
I hope one day
To raise the thing that will best me.
But until that day
This stupid shit will keep happening.
O phone
You aren’t much of a muse.
You correct my spelling
To something I neither expect
Nor want.
You are too helpful
With your auto capitalization
And your flat, buttonless keyboard.
Yet I continue to use you
As my primary writing tool
Because it is so convenient
To lay on my back in bed
And hold you up
When I write.
That is
Until I drop you
On my face.
Sarah D. Silvey 