Unassuming Haiku Musings
Snapdragon
Snap, you dragon, snap— clap your talons together and let those claws crack.
Department
Seventeen syllables, give or take a grievance. Small observations pressed flat and dried — the red pen mid-bleed, the morning mid-thought, the indignity mid-stir. The form is ancient and the complaints are modern, which seems a fair trade. House rule: say the little thing exactly, count the syllables loosely, and end before the feeling overstays.
Snap, you dragon, snap— clap your talons together and let those claws crack.
I was enraged when I learned that writers of rage earned a higher wage.
Scents-less rose wars bloom— petallers profiting off bellicose bouquets.
Imbedded, jellied, were Audley Court's golden yolks within my game pie.