God expects man’s fruit. /
Man delivers shells instead. /
Hollow is the love.
Filed under 2018, Haiku to You Thursday
All my friends are clouds /
Scuttling across the sky /
Whispering thunder.
Filed under 2018, Haiku to You Thursday, Photo by Beth Booker, poetry by author
There once was a purveyor of F-bombs /
Who dropped them like words of a psalm. /
One day on a streak /
He went well passed his peak /
Now his voice squeaks with lavender charm.
THE CON JOB
the ground war began today
at dawn
in a desert land
far from here.
the U.S. ground troops were
largely
made up of
Blacks, Mexicans and poor
whites
most of whom had joined
the military
because it was the only job
they could find.
the ground war began today
at dawn
in a desert land
far from here
and the Blacks, Mexicans
and poor whites
were sent there
to fight and win
as on tv
and on the radio
the fat white rich newscasters
first told us all about
it
and then the fat rich white
analysts
told us
why
again
and again
and again
on almost every
tv and radio station
almost every minute
day and night
because
the Blacks, Mexicans
and poor whites
were sent there
to fight and win
at dawn
in a desert land
far enough away from
here.
—Charles Bukowski
Filed under 2018, photo by David E. Booker, Photo Finish Friday
Those who saw you fall /
might never have known you /
then they saw your tears.
Filed under 2018, Haiku to You Thursday, poetry by author
There once was man of subtle fun /
Who tried to make puns on the run /
But his display of verbal wit /
Didn’t go over for shit /
And left people mindless minus one.
Filed under 2018, Monday morning writing joke, poetry by author
I whispered bye to you today. /
Cancer overflowing in you /
Aggressive as the tears from my eyes. /
There was nothing good in the parting /
Except the end of your pain.
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