Unassuming Haiku Musings
Green Sleeves
Greensleeves, oh green sleeves, elbows awash in green tea. Tis a beastly pot.
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.
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.
An important date! Show up early, stay too late. Hurry up and wait.