I coo, you coo, we all coo for haiku

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You'll have to pardon my artiness this eve. The last few times I had to directly deal with any sort of death were long ago and mentally scarring during formative years. Some of that angst-ridden, poetry-writing teenager is trying to bubble to the surface. Fortunately, I am a lot better in recognizing bad gothic-I-wanna-be-a-vampYre poetry. I believe I understand at least some of the subtleties of haiku. While I cannot claim the following is good poetry, I believe it to not be bad, and certainly several orders of magnitude better than the tripe I wrote over a decade ago.

kitten wants to mew
nothing comes out but silence
vocal chords fading

driving in light rain
vision is getting blurry
is it eyes or rain

so skinny so frail
soon you will no longer be
Monday is too soon

your sister still plays
you no longer want to play
Precious does not know

you clung to my lap
tonight you hide under bed
things are getting worse

trash is piling up
forgot to eat Saturday
must care for myself

Posted in: Dear Diary

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