Unassuming Haiku Musings
Wild and Crazy Nights
Wilde’s midnight portrait— his corrupted private self paints the grey away.
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.
Wilde’s midnight portrait— his corrupted private self paints the grey away.
My primitive thoughts: "Me think funny words. Make laughs." (They're still evolving.)
Greensleeves, oh green sleeves, elbows awash in green tea. Tis a beastly pot.
Share and Cher alike— I have never beaten swords or ever ploughed Cher.