Haiku of the Week

LAGriffithPark

chattering voices
stay out of the park they say
monster inside me

 

Special St. Patrick’s Day Poem: Just My Luck

Met a leprechaun in a pub
drinking whiskey and rum.
How would you like
to have some mischievous fun?
‘Follow me into the wood
when the moon is full.
I show you a pot of gold
seen only by fools.
When you return after biscuits and tea,
look for the red ribbon tied to a tree.’
I saw a twinkle in his eye and did not care.
I thought only of the pot of gold he was
willing to share.
‘What’s mine is yours’ he went on to say,
‘as long as you remember the way.’
So, I followed the wee man into the forest.
The pot of gold was there,
just like he foretold it.
Come the next morn, I realized my gaffe,
every tree bore a red ribbon and the sound of his laugh.

leprechaun
Leprechaun ©ScottPadgett/Skinwerks

 

Special St. Patrick’s Day Haiku

winds of march
mystical shamrock forest
leprechaun’s gold

 

 

Happy March

shamrock-wreath
Happy March! It’s the month of strange Irish legends, ominous warnings, over-indulgence, abstinence, and all things green.

February got a bit crazy. I missed all my writing deadlines, struggled to find time to work on the site, and much to the chagrin of this Halloween lover, Valentine’s came and gone without being changed into a second Halloween. But, sometimes, you just gotta roll with the punches and there’s no time to mourn February because we’re too busy looking forward.

This month, I’ve got some great haiku, fantastic art, cool movie lists, beautiful photos and lots of yummy Halloween recipes to share with everyone. I love reading your comments, and please, keep on rating those haikus.

In parting, I leave you with this wonderful quote from the Celtic Twilight by William Butler Yeats:

Let us go forth,
the tellers of tales,
and seize whatever prey
the heart long for,
and have no fear.
Everything exists,
everything is true,
and the earth is
only a little dust
under our feet.

StPat1

Special Valentine’s Day Poem – Saying Goodbye is Always Hard

Saying goodbye is always hard.
I don’t like the feel of it.
The soft caress of a lover’s embrace by a warm body next to mine.
Now, hard muscles turned to stone.

Saying goodbye is always hard.
I don’t like the sound of it.
A harmonious melody of a chorus of angels floating in the air.
Now, a cacophony of gnawing little teeth.

Saying goodbye is always hard.
I don’t like the smell of it.
Odors become memories burned in the mind, like the cologne I bought last Christmas.
Now, the metallic sickly sweet stench of blood.

Saying goodbye is always hard.
I don’t like the taste of it.
The taste of red wine with wild cherries, warm peaches and a hint of passionfruit.
Now, the cold, succulent, saltiness of raw meat.

Saying goodbye is always hard.
I don’t like the sight of it.
Pink cheeks flush a deeper red when crystal blue eyes catch mine.
Now, a blackened mass of exposed bone and rotting flesh.

Saying goodbye is always hard.
I don’t like the finality of it.
I should see, hear, smell, feel, and taste my love, whenever I want.
No. I’ll never say goodbye.