This magnificent house in one of the neighborhoods in my corner of the world deserves a haiku, no? It’s magnificent and marvelous.
oh, house on the hill,
with your quaint and mystery,
kindly let me in.
There will be haikus, yes, but first, a few updates. It’s been a while, Kitten Heel Marvel.
And heeeere come the bullets…
Bullets end here. Just a tiny update on what’s been going on. Now, without further ado, a haiku (intentional rhyming). In honor of yesterday’s event:
earthquakeis that an earthquake? feet failed me before, not now– the new Flash Gordon.
On this Haiku Wednesday, I decided to feature a haiku written by a certain poet. That noise you’re hearing, dear reader, is my contented sigh…
Japan by Billy Collins
It feels like eating
the same small, perfect grape
again and again.
I walk through the house reciting it
and leave its letters falling
through the air of every room.
I stand by the big silence of the piano and say it.
I say it in front of a painting of the sea.
I tap out its rhythm on an empty shelf.
I listen to myself saying it,
then I say it without listening,
then I hear it without saying it.
And when the dog looks up at me,
I kneel down on the floor
and whisper it into each of his long white ears.
It’s the one about the one-ton temple bell
with the moth sleeping on its surface,
and every time I say it, I feel the excruciating
pressure of the moth
on the surface of the iron bell.
When I say it at the window,
the bell is the world
and I am the moth resting there.
When I say it at the mirror,
I am the heavy bell
and the moth is life with its papery wings.
And later, when I say it to you in the dark,
you are the bell,
and I am the tongue of the bell, ringing you,
and the moth has flown
from its line
and moves like a hinge in the air above our bed.
an interesting hope
that dashed quickly to the ground.
time to leave it be
i do this always,
these delusions of grandeur.
come back to earth, me.
return to the start.
alone again, naturally,
the solo shadow.
remember dashed hopes?
please don’t reach out to me, man–
can’t have it both ways.
a hearty welcome,
new boy on the horizon.
no more quiet time.
food that is healthy
never tastes that good to me
but I must suffer
my dearest springtime,
when i ache and thirst for change—
you bring allergies.
my muse goes away
on extended vacations
no return address.
...LIVING THE BEST LIFE EVER!
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