Friday Haiku VIII

~I LIKE SEARS~

Three-spoke quill handle

An extra-large head casting

My Craftsman drill press

Friday Haiku VII

~TECHNOLOGY, SOMETIMES NOT SO COOPERATIVE~

Laptop malfunction
I press the keys; tap, tap, tap
Nothing happens; tap

Friday Haiku VI

~THREE DAY WEEKEND~

Friday Haiku time

Forlorn, I will let you down

Doing other things

Global Warming... Hurry Up!

My name is Bog, I have been frozen inside this wall of ice for over 40,000 years and I love bananas. It all began one Upper Paleolithic spring morning, I departed from my rocky dwelling to hunt mammoth but lost my way amongst the trees that always seemed so familiar. For days I tried retracing my steps for a way home, only to find nothing in the form of help or direction. It was on the seventh day that I met the shining man. His body was a glimmering silver color, his head covered by a sort of shield. At first, he simply stood still in the middle of the forest as I watched him from afar. When he noticed me staring, he beckoned me to come towards him. As I approached, he handed me a yellow object and gestured for me to eat it. "It's a banana", the shining man said. I took a bite, it was splendid! I gestured back to him to give me more. "Peel it this time", he said while showing me how to remove the outer, protective layer. This made the banana taste even better! My elation at this discovery made the shining man smile. "For you", he said pointing to the entire banana pile. I eagerly grabbed another, then another. When I turned around, the shining man had vanished without a trace. For years I stood there, eating the bananas oblivious to the changing climate that was transforming the world around me. Then it happened, my freezing fingers could no longer peel bananas. To this day I stand here frozen, holding a delicious banana as I wait for a thaw so I may taste the sweet mush once more.

Those Pesky, Scheming Farm Animals

I'm pretty sure that the entirety of my cattle are plotting some sort of effort against me, it looms in the air alongside purple storm clouds. I sit in my chair, peering out of the window while pulling the lace curtain aside, shotgun within my clutch. I see one of them gnawing at the grass as if nothing is amiss, playing the coy cow. No doubt the chickens are wise to the situation at hand. Several of them peck the ground for bits of feed that remain, eyeing me from the corners of their beady little eyes. I release the curtain; I've seen enough. I load my shotgun and watch the door as thunder rumbles across the cooling sky. A long moo in the distance, the signal has been given. I brace for the attack.

Friday Haiku V

~IN MEMORIAM~

Tattered kitchen sponge
Hygienic service no more
Into the garbage

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Eerschay! 

Just Another Tuesday

There is nothing I love more than dancing the night away. Tonight however, I have the realization that there is nowhere for me to “get down”, so I remove my (very fine) dancing shoes and scorn the twilight. Once again I’ll just lay on the floor, listen to some records and feel sad.

Home Sweet Home

How I ever got here I do not know, but for five years I have been stuck in this box. The room is a perfect cube, approximately twenty feet in every direction with no doors or windows to speak of. On one wall, there is a clock in the shape of a cat, whose eyes shift back and forth with each passing second. On the opposite wall is a small painting of a shoeless boy fishing off of a pier. Other than these two items, the room is void of decor. In the middle of the ceiling there is a sliding hatch which randomly opens to drop various items down into my space (books, clothes, photographs; I was once mysteriously given a gold trophy). Each day at exactly 11am, a parachute carrying a tray of food slowly descends, gently landing on my floor. These meals are not your ordinary dishes, all are unique and more delicious than the next. They transcend all varieties of cuisine, sometimes being atypical enough to be "unclassifiable". In fact, all of the items I've received are one-of-a-kind and of the highest quality. The books (written by authors I've never heard of) contain stories that are more interesting and gripping than anything I've read in the outside world. The photographs are always beautifully composed while the clothes are soft, comfortable and quite frankly, look great (as if they were custom made just for me). Suddenly, I hear the sound of the hatch slide open and I look up, horrified to see what is plunging down to greet me.

Friday Haiku IV

~THE CLOGGER~

Succulent, shaved steak
Salami, bacon and cheese
More than a sandwich