The Smells of Christmas, 1965: A Haiku Sequence

I watch Christmas lights
outside the kitchen window.
Mom's sugar cookies.

Gotta be saintly

lest Santa Claus pass me by.

Turkey's almost done.

Best present ever!

Mattel's Creeple Peeple set!

Stinky Plastigoop! - Jeff Barnes

Almost October

A barely visible half moon hovers in the pale blue sky.

Leaves glow yellow on the trees as the day begins to die.

Slowly the world

becomes more quiet.

Even the wind

is a mere whisper.

The only urgency

is in the crickets'

chirping as the night

grows crisper. -- Jeff Barnes

Haiku

Pumpkin orange sun -- open field fading to night -- eve of October -- Jeff Barnes

Orange Wedding

Two days after

the equinox the landscape

was still mostly green

under a gray sky,

but what the trees lacked

in autumn pigment

we made up for,

you with your orange

and yellow tie-dyed

dress and your bouquet

of gerbera daisies

in all the colors of fire,

I with my

orange boutonniere

and goofy striped

stovepipe hat.

Maybe it was synchronicity

that our minister, having forgone

her official robe,

arrived for the ceremony

clad in a pumpkin hued kurta

to bless our union

in the days just before

the leaves began to

dance in the wind

and the land began to

look more fiery than

the sky at sunset. - Jeff Barnes

Bad Poetry Day

 Today is Bad Poetry Day,
so I will not write a poem that is good.
I will instead opt for the poetic equivalent
of a movie written and directed by Ed Wood.

The rhymes might be imperfect

and the meter might be off.

I've no doubt  that all the literati

will look down their noses and scoff.

It  is never going to win

the Bollingen Poetry Prize.

It's so shitty that it will do nothing

except fester and possibly attract flies.

You might not think it's as good

as a poem written by Wallace Stevens.

If you manage to find someone who cares,

then feel free to air your grievance.

This poem is worse than mediocre.

One might say it's unequivocally infernal.

I've no illusions that it will ever be published

in any respectable literary journal.

I hope that any critic who may read it

will call it an unmitigated disaster,

for this a time to wane poetic.

This is a day to be a poetaster. - Jeff Barnes

King Kong in Paris

He strolls the banks of the Seine,
looking sharp in a black beret.
He's on his dream vacation in Paris,
celebrating Bastille Day.

He feels a bit dejected

if not exactly surprised

that not one of the outdoor cafes

has a table for someone his size.

No matter where he may go,

everybody will scream and flee.

He means no harm to anyone.

He just wants to enjoy some wine and brie.

When he climbs onto the Eiffel Tower

he is attacked by fighter jets.

He swats at them in self-defense

with a fifty-foot long baguette.

He finally admits to himself

that he is wildly out of place.

He will never again make the mistake

of trusting the human race.

He swims back to his home on Skull Island,
putting an early end to his vacation.

Obviously, he has had enough

of what humans call civilization. - Jeff Barnes

I just finished this poem today, Bastille Day.  It was actually inspired by a design on a t-shirt I own. - JB

A Question of Wholeness

If you buy a
donut hole

and use it to fill a

donut's hole

will it make the

donut whole? - Jeff Barnes