The love of nature is religion, and that religion is poetry; these three things are one thing. This is the unspoken creed of haiku poets.
Trapped in infernoIt blazed brighter than the sunHis desire for her
his abusemakes her an anvilwithout spark
He cleared his throat and held up one hand dramatically. He grinned at us, waiting for applause. That last line was four syllables. Artemis said. Apollo frowned. Was it? Yes. What about No, no, that...
If life transcends deathThen I will seek for you thereIf not, then there too
Where humanitysowed faith, hope, and unity, joy’s garden blossomed.
My stomach rumbles.Plates of cookies, cake, and fudge.Christmastime is here.
Dreams like a podcast,Downloading truth in my ears.They tell me cool stuff.""Apollo?" I guess, because I figured nobody else could make a haiku that bad.He put his finger to his lips. "I'm incognito....
My children are monsters, Kiro thought. And I am responsible. Perhaps if I had read them the haikus of Basho when they were little instead of that American manifesto of high-pressure sales, Green Eggs...
Leave me alone,Do me a favor, abandon me,I want to think about,You me and the idea of forever.
A violinist fiddled.With strings resined for winter.Summer's light splintered.
