Haiku

Two geese fly above the river lit by sunrise halfway through winter. - Jeff Barnes

Croz

Bleak January -- fly your freak flag at half-mast. Songs swirl in flurries. - Jeff Barnes

Happy New Year or something

 I wrote this poem a few days ago and took the photo of my Cthulhu figure and H.P. Lovecraft bobblehead to go with it. 

When the meeting is boring -- doodle!

 

His Ex-Wife's Cat

 His ex-wife's cat followed him home one night,
waited outside until he went to bed,
crept in through a window and, in an act of spite,
defecated  on top of his bald head.
The man woke up next morning early and bright,
several hours after the cat had fled.
He let out a yell so loud that all his neighbors heard,
when he looked in the mirror and saw his toupee turd.

His ex-wife's cat followed him home again,

found an open window and crawled inside.

The man started snoring at half past ten

and the cat padded over to his bedside,

jumped onto the nightstand and then,

seeing the man's wheezing mouth opened wide,

carefully positioned himself on the  headboard

and urinated down his throat as he snored.

His ex-wife's cat followed him home once more

but this time didn't catch him unawares.

"I'll kill you, you feline bastard!" he swore

as he came running down the stairs.

"You won't torment me anymore,

so you'd better say your prayers!"

The cat prayed to Bastet and beseeched her to protect him.

She appeared forthwith and tore the man a new orifice for his rectum. -- Jeff Barnes

Chiaroscuro

 Barely discernible in her bed,
she blends in with the artificial dusk
created by the closed blinds .

In the dimness she sees

her late daughter, her parents

and her friends from childhood

like a home movie

projected on the wall,

flickering with her consciousness.

Nurses come and go

but gradually become less real

than the parade of the deceased,

their voices becoming more muted

as if she is hearing them

from an  expanding distance

as she feels herself vanish

like an early morning moon

ebbing into the lightening sky. -- Jeff Barnes

Ivy

Ivy thinks of when she stood
on the beach, just beyond the reach
of the lapping waves.

Seagulls circled above her
like guardian angels and
her hair danced
like wisps of dark smoke
in the wind. 

She remembers when she drew

pictures in the sand every day

and how they washed away

with each new tide

 

and when she watched sails

turn orange in the distance

gradually disappearing

as they seemed to sink

into the horizon,

followed by the setting sun.

 

On  breezy days

she holds her seashell

to her ear, listening

to the spurious rumbling

of the ocean

 

and stands beside

her open window

to let her hair dance again

like wisps of white smoke

in the wind. -- Jeff Barnes