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Archive for August, 2013

Sycamore

A squirrel dashes up the sycamore tree,
prey to an invisible hunter,
or so it appears from my kitchen window.

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The Jerk

Jerk sitting in corner
talking loudly
for whole café to hear.

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The Nonconformist

The nonconformist haiku,
independent of syllabic shackles,
sits reading under a tree.

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Outcast

Life isn’t always scary,
but these fears are far from buried.
At times it’s much to carry
when doubt and hate are married.

They kick me when I’m down,
and strike me as I turn around.
I’m the outcast of this town.
I’m of no more worth than a junkyard hound.

I’ll never be accepted,
but I’m used to being neglected.
Placed in a line to be selected,
I’m the one left undetected.

I’m so tired of all the lying,
the stony glares, the endless buying.
At my best I feel like crying,
at my worst I feel like dying.

I’ve become numb to the pain that’s dealt,
though it has left an ugly emotional welt.
This empty sensation is the strangling belt,
and I try not to forget the way I once felt.

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Blank Signals

Screens that might as well
be receiving blank signals
glow in dark bedrooms,
cutting right through feeble eyes
and going straight for the brain.

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Somewhat Whole

Partially crushed leaves
gather upon my front lawn,
somewhat whole again.

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Transformation

Bar lights have been glowing
red, purple, blue, and a sickly green
inside of this room where
average lives are transformed,
no longer afraid of offending,
never even giving a thought to
everything they once held essential.

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