Haiku 121

It seems the moment
that the morning mist lifted,
the fox just vanished.

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Greta

A schoolgirl teaching
grown-ups a thing or two:
There’s no Santa Claus.
Toys must be paid for.
Nothing will come down
the chimney but up it went
the future of the children.

Diary: Wednesday 17 April 2019

It’s so hard to know what to buy people for Christmas, especially when you’ve forgotten them and it’s already Easter. Take my nephew, Josh. He’s training to be a neurologist, so I bought him a hand-drill and a magnifying glass. He said I needed my head examined. Of course, I politely refused. Making my excuses, I quickly left and hopped into a taxi.
“What’s wrong with your leg?” asked the driver. Continue reading “Diary: Wednesday 17 April 2019”

Silent Noise

Despite what progress
sciences have made
within my lifetime,
nothing in the news
flipped a paradigm
or so much as caused
a sacred cow
to lift its head from grazing.
So little said
in this Age of Chatter;
so much noise.
It’s soporific.
I fear for our kind.
We’re dozing off
the cliff-edge
and no one seems to mind.

The Leaves

The leaves of autumn
last till spring,
till summer, even.
Between young flowers,
they lie:
old flames chilled
by the change of seasons.
Had I an alien eye,
I might believe
that leaves
as decayed as these
were signs of spring
and pick them,
one by one,
to warm my home
with their fiery hues
and wonder why
they never die
but simply fade

away.

I Bought the Moon

I bought the Moon for 20K
from a guy in Ninny’s Bar.
He said he worked at NASA
and he smoked a big cigar.

He said: “A shrewd investor
is impossible to resist.
I knew you loved a bargain
by the sundial on your wrist.

“Here’s the deed of ownership.
The Moon is yours alone.
I’m off to Planet Vegas
in a rocket that I own…”