Haiku

 Early morning snow -- noontime icicles dripping. Last day of the year. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

 Late this troubled year in predawn kitchen window -- full moon through the trees. - Jeff Barnes

Cryptid Christmas

I.

They call him abominable,

but that is quite unfair.

He is gentle and cuddly,

like an overgrown teddy bear.

He hangs Tibetan prayer flags

on his Christmas tree

and sits by his fireplace

sipping yak butter tea.

He'll invite you into his cave

to have a delicious brown betty.

You'll get nothing but hospitality

when you spend Christmas with a Yeti.

II.

He loves to bask in

the northwest winter's breeze.

All year long he is surrounded

by majestic evergreen trees.

In December he decorates them

with tinsel, lights, and glass balls

while sipping on some eggnog

and singing "Deck the Halls."

He will offer you hot chocolate,

gingerbread cookies, and butterscotch.

That's the reception you'll get at Christmas

if you visit a Sasquatch.

III.

You will certainly find proof of this

so-called monster's largesse

if you travel for the holidays

to the shores of Loch Ness.

Nessie always makes sure

that visitors are well fed

with cock-a-leekie soup,

hot porridge, and shortbread

laid out neatly on fine dinnerware.

Never is it messy.

That's what you will find

if you spend Christmas with Nessie.

IV.

This creature has sharp fangs,

but he won't go for your throat

unless, that is, you happen

to be a juicy goat.

But he will gladly share

Christmas dinner with you.

After he drains the goat's blood

he will serve you a tasty goat stew. 

He'll decorate the palm trees

and light the night with a candelabra.

That is what you should expect

if you spend Christmas with a Chupacabra.

V.

If you see three red lights

in the Christmas Eve sky

it is Rudolph's shiny nose

and Mothman's glowing eyes.

He blithely flies in  circles

around Santa Claus's sleigh

as he and Santa's reindeer

gambol about and play.

As they cross the Ohio River

does he reflect, perhaps,

on that fateful day so long ago

when the silver bridge collapsed? - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

12th of November.
Neighbor's still in denial.
Trump flag in the rain. -- Jeff Barnes

Becoming Abe Vigoda

The sky tonight is veiled

by horizon spanning clouds.

I feel as if I'm looking up

through a burial shroud.

I can't see any stars,

just a hazy smudge of moon.

October's leaves, like my hair,

are falling way too soon.

The landscape is as desolate

as the plains of North Dakota.

My aura has faded to gray,

and I am becoming Abe Vigoda.

I mainly drink tea or coffee

when I need to slake my thirst.

Some say I should switch to decaf,

but I tell them I will die first.

Ice cream, salt, and butter, I'm told,

are unhealthy for my heart.

I would love a big bowl of chili,

but it would only make me fart.

I can't eat spicy tacos

or enjoy a can of  soda.

My churning stomach reminds me

that I am becoming Abe Vigoda.

I speak with what sounds

a lot like my grandfather's voice.

Laxatives, antacid, and Viagra

have become my drugs of choice.

I wish that time were an illusion

and that I could quit counting years.

The hair on my head is relocating

to a new home in my ears.

I hear birds outside and wonder

if they are singing my life's coda.

The old man in the mirror tells me

that I am becoming Abe Vigoda.  - Jeff Barnes

Count Stinkula

Every night he rises
from his lonely tomb.
He reeks so badly that the rats
all scatter in the gloom.
He has never brushed his fangs
in 500 years of undeath.
His bloodlust is only exceeded
by his rancid, putrid breath,
which is far more malodorous
than the most putrefactive quagmire.
He is Count Stinkula,
the halitotic vampire.

Wear a cross around your neck

and a filter on your nose

to protect yourself from the stench

that rises from his toes.

Nobody can long endure

the power of his foetor.

His shoes could surely use

a pair of Odor Eaters.

Would that someone had staked him

and thrown him on a pyre.

He is Count Stinkula,

the bromodotic vampire.

The villagers fear his hypnotic gaze

and the miasma from his ass.

Who knew that a steady diet of blood

could give anybody so much gas?

They shelter in their huts and pray

down upon their knees,

asking protection from his evil

and his backdoor breeze.

They wait for the morning to once again

break upon their shire,

giving them safety from Count Stinkula

the inordinately flatulent vampire. - Jeff Barnes

Pothole

gray clouds 
dispel
the residue
of daytime

goldenrod

and yellow leaves

glow with a light

all their own

my mind

is as full

as a pothole

in the rain

my fear

is as gone

as the town

this used to be - Jeff Barnes

Podunk

I don't have no fancy clothes.

I wear work boots and camouflage.

Ain't got no sissy hybrid car,

just a pickup truck in the garage.

I got an assault rifle and two shotguns

and my trusty huntin' knife.

I'm just sittin here in Podunk

defendin' my way of life.

My Trump bumper stickers are the only thing

holdin' my truck together.

Got a tarp over the hole in my roof

to keep out the rainy weather.

I shoot groundhogs to feed my kids.

My second cousin is my wife.

I'm just sittin' here in podunk

defendin' my way of life. - Jeff Barnes

Page 29

We only speak in the language of possums

and do not concern ourselves with human affairs.

The westward sun touches the tops of the blossoms

and we talk of nothing as we sit on the porch stairs.

We bask in the fading day's lukewarm heat

and feel nothing, though we keep smiling.

Ghosts of children dance in the street

and sing songs that are almost beguiling.

Indian music floats out of someone's window,

the sweet sounds of a sitar and a tampura.

In the distance the sound of a backhoe

fades out like the setting sun's aura.

I went to the place where they buried Mom's ashes

but could no longer detect where they dug the hole.

A ladybug walks across your upper eyelashes

as the wind bangs a chain against a flagpole.

In the lot next door I see a grasshopper jumping.

The evening clouds begin to turn gray.

I open my mouth and start to say something

but the force of silence buries my words away. - Jeff Barnes

In the Grocery Store Parking Lot

The rickety old pickup truck

sits like a relic,

facing us from the

opposite parking space.

The red part of its

Confederate flag license plate

has faded to the color

of Donald Trump's face. - Jeff Barnes

Returns

Returns

Hollywood turns out movies

and sequels by the score.

You say you liked Batman?

Well, here's Batman 2, 3, and 4.

After a concert is over

we stand and yell for an encore.

No matter what it is we like

we always seem to want more.

Hell, we couldn't even stop

after a single world war.

Can there be a return of sanity?

That's the only thing I wish for. - Jeff Barnes

Gizmo

His fur,

a pure white aura,

augments his face

like the mane

of an albino lion.

His eyes,
blue gemstones,

glow like tropical waters

under the light

of the sun.

Afternoons

he takes his rest,

savors the comfort

of the pillows

in his basket.

Dozing,

he knows that all

is as it should be

in his demesne

protected by Bastet. - Jeff Barnes

Bedroom

My childhood bedroom was a wonderland

of stuffed animals and miniature cars,

Little Golden books and records

and plastic men from Mars,

drawing pads and crayons

and stacks of comic books.

In between two chests of drawers

I had a little reading nook.

The monster models on my shelves

always gave me a fright.

I could swear I saw them move

after Mom turned off the light.

My best times were spent holed up

in my insulated, magical place.

I wished I could detach it from the house

and fly it off into outer space. - Jeff Barnes

Dodgy Knob

He'll blind you with the glare

from his spotty bald head.

His shifty little eyeballs

are beady and red.

He comes from a family

that's thoroughly inbred.

Pray he keeps his shoes on

for he has stinky feet,

a piping little voice

like a newborn lamb's bleat,

and despite all this

he is full of conceit.

He seeks out new prey

in the personal ads.

He abandoned his girlfriend

and the children they had.

He doesn't even know

that he is a grandad.

He's got a microhead

that looks more like a node.

He drives an egg-shaped car

up and down the road.

He's got more poison glands

than the average cane toad. - Jeff Barnes

Outside the Window

Rainy Sunday.

The sky is the same

tone of gray it has been

almost every  day

for a month.

Faded lilacs

across the way

do little

to contrast the

oppressive dreariness.

I wish

that the kids

had been out

yesterday

creating graffiti

with their chalk

so that we could
today have seen

a river of many colors

bleeding

    down

        the

           street. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

April morning fog --

dead twigs on the rain-glazed deck.

Mom's been gone a year. - Jeff Barnes

Maximilian Melonhead

Maximilian Melonhead is an interesting case.

I don't know how he copes.

He has a regular human body,

but his head is a cantaloupe.

This is the way that he was born.

Nobody can figure out why.

He has a strawberry for a nose

and two blueberries for  his eyes.

He has a banana for a mouth.

It can be a smile or a frown.

It all depends on how he wears it,

right side up or upside down.

There is no sound too quiet

for him to overhear.

Not a whisper escapes the Saturn peaches

that he has for ears.

Occasionally he has rosacea

that lasts for several weeks,

which is actually a crop of raspberries

that breaks out on his cheeks.

He rises early in the morning

and works from eight to four

at his job as produce manager

of a local grocery store. - Jeff Barnes

ZOOM

Z  looks like speed

a running leg

or perhaps

a cartoon swoosh

Two Os

look like travel

wheels

rolling along

M folds in on itself

like an accordian

or perhaps

something that has been

crashed into

by a Z and two Os. - Jeff Barnes

The Cat on His Head

Titus Taradiddle wears a cat on his head.

His followers blindly swallow his lies.

It's easier than learning to think instead.

Titus Taradiddle wears a cat on his head,

knowing how easily his disciples are misled.

Unable to see the craftiness in his eyes,

they end up believing whatever he has said.

Titus Taradiddle wears a cat on his head. - Jeff Barnes

Transition

Mind where you step!

The sky is under the street!

You can see birds fly

if you look down.

Cows now have wings

and all the buses have feet.

B-52 bombers

are flying under our town.

If you jump straight up

you'll land in the water.

The ocean is where

the sky used to be.

The winter wind

is getting much hotter

while the summer days

average minus five degrees.

The sky has turned green

and the grass is now red.

The most rational scientists

have now become mystics.

Push everything you know

right out of your head.

What was once our reality

is now anachronistic. - Jeff Barnes

Ode to a COVID-19 Mask

My wife made me
a protective mask.

She did it on her own.

I didn't have to ask.

She told me it was

a rather simple task.

The fabric's pattern is

the Day of the Dead

with smiling skulls of blue,

green, yellow, pink and red.

It protects me against

the disease's spread.

It's good to know

when germs are rife

I have such a caring

and creative wife,

one who loves me

and values my life.

I know this poem

is hardly Byronic

and this plague we're fighting

is not bubonic.

But I am protected by

a day of the dead mask.

How ironic! - Jeff Barnes

Stuff

A red push robot with a

silver heart on his chest

always cheers me up

when I'm feeling depressed,

a handful of rubber duckies

with devil horns on their heads,

a little plush purple

unicorn named Ned,

a goofy pink 

dinosaur hand puppet,

though my hand is way

too big to stick up it,

a faux jade Laughing Buddha

that glows in the dark,

a space-suited Snoopy

made by Hallmark,

some skeleton musicians

from the Day of the Dead,

a masked Mexican

Lucha Libre bobblehead,

I've got so much stuff

on my shelves and in nooks,

and that's not even

counting the books! - Jeff Barnes