Category Archives: Bad Haiku Corner

Expressing unimportant thoughts concisely

08.04.18
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Setting Myself Up

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For two years we waited
After we said good-bye
The click-clack of nails
Fading into the distance

Kids were growing fast
Life going on about itself
We said “someday” then “soon”
Then “today” finally came

Not a ball of fur, bigger
Halfway from pup to dog
You named yourself Hazel
We agreed and signed the paper

From quiet to not quiet
Small shadow at my heel
On the third day
My heart broke and reformed

Remembering
the end starts
with a beginning

When we lost our dogs, Daisy and Dot the dachshunds, they’d been in our lives for 15+ years. I still have moments where I think of them and grieve, two years later, so I wasn’t surprised to have a few bittersweet moments as I fell for Hazel, our half-grown Schnauzer. Hazel doesn’t know about any of that, she’s currently concerned with what room I’m in and why those kids are so loud. I’ll have to try to live in her moments, the ones that are right here, where nothing is wrong and there is no end in sight. That’s dog magic. I’m glad we have magic again.

08.03.18
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Lavatriage

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Heart of a young parent
Inside a middle-aged host.
The floor may not be lava,
But your ankle sure is toast.

My dear 46-year-old husband did this to his ankle in the middle of our roadtrip to Montana last week. He was playing “the floor is lava” with the 6-year-old. There are many advantages to having your kids later in life, but occasionally your body decides to remind you that there are consequences for your foolishness.

The 6-year-old was the one who told me exactly how this came about. I’m glad she’s around to make sure no detail is left unshared.

08.02.18
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I Seasoned It With My Tears And It Still Wasn’t Enough

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O gluten-free burrito,
I bought you by mistake.
I had to eat you anyway
Though taste you did forsake.
Your wrapper was so sexy,
Your words I did not comb.
I would have then discovered
Your “tortilla” was packing foam.
O sad disappointment–
Even lime chicken could not serve.
You’re the burrito I had to eat,
But not the burrito I deserve.

This is based on a true story. I have not made the same mistake again.

On another note, after publishing so many of these, I’m finding that I’ve forgotten what I’ve already done. The poem I was working on (in my head) all day is I think a repeat of one about how we eat “The Usual” around here–so you get this one I wrote in 15 minutes instead. Guess I need to make a list or something.

08.01.18
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Vanitree

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built like a tree trunk
but just look at that thigh gap
leg-lifting the sky

This tree might have been offended by my staring at its crotch, but it gave no indication one way or the other. Clearly it works out.

Also—here we go! I actually had enough service as we barreled down the road (I was not driving, just making myself carsick) to post on August 1. You may be a little worried by this start that 2018 is going to be a weird year, and thinking about what I have—well, yes. Probably. Let’s see how weird it gets.

08.01.18
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Bad Poem-a-Day August 2018

Sometimes, you’re sittin’ on a stump, trying to get your thoughts collected, and Life decides that you will not being doing that right now. Life does the Dance of Distraction all around you, and, well, you fall for it.

I’m finishing up the last leg of a road trip. I have poems. I have limited connectivity, and I had no plan to deal with that.

There will be poems. Probably even tomorrow. I’ll make it up to you. In the meantime, I’ll be riding all night, watching Montana and Idaho and Oregon go by until we are enveloped by our little neighborhood. Then–a shower. After that, poems.

10.02.17
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Light Bright

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cherish the old soul
but diamond dust in my eye
her shiny new one

I am lucky enough to have one of each–a wise little old soul and a sparkly new one.  These littles with the newly minted souls burn fiercely, and she gives me hope that we will find our way, that the mistakes of our past do not have to be repeated.  Love big, cry hard, laugh loud, and try all the things.

09.24.17
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Underclouds

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When the flaming ball in sky
Squints my poor Oregonian eyes,
I shake my fist and yell real loud:
I wish you were behind a cloud!

Stupid sun, enough is enough.
Get thee behind some cumulofluff!
I don’t want to experience your fiery gasses,
And I can’t find my dark sunglasses.

Rain or not, I’d rather post a status
Of overcast with gray-bottomed stratus.
Nothing like some wispy cirrus
To keep that roaster from getting near us.

If you persist, you orb of glare,
I’ll take you all up on your dare,
Call lightning down like Zeus on Olympus
And banish you forever behind cumulonimbus!

I was made to live in an overcast world.  The sun makes me weary, gives me headaches.  I am energized by misty mornings and a sky that doesn’t make my eyes hurt.  I haven’t done the DNA, and my niece says we’re actually Scandanavian, but I take this as confirmation of my Scots and Irish heritage.  Gloomy skies and a taste for morbid stories and whiskey (though I drink bourbon, hence the “e”).

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Be burned by that nasty sun, you will not.

09.18.17
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Microwaves of Nausea

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Permeating the walls and halls,
The fumes worse than bathroom stalls,
You thought you’d have a nice, warm snack—
Instead it’s a mustard gas attack.

The popcorn doesn’t need that long.
The smoke means you’ve done it wrong.
Last night’s curry should have stayed at home-a,
Now we’re sick from that aroma.

And YOU—with the leftover trout.
Pack up your things and just get out.
If nuking fish is your bailiwick,
Find somewhere else to make people sick.

Crimes against noses linger for hours.
I feel like I need a Silkwood shower.
My nostrils are thoroughly defeated.
Are you sure that “food” should be reheated?

I don’t work in an office anymore, but I cook lunch every morning for my sandwich-hating, food-allergic kid.  Fish sticks at 8AM, folks.  Takes me back to my cube farm days, and not in a good way.

The popcorn was meant to be the other child’s snack.  It only took eight hours or so for that to dissipate.

09.10.17
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P.M. S.nack

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you called me crazy
so I made myself crackers
you won’t get any

I dare you to tell me those aren’t crackers. I know they aren’t, you know they aren’t, but we really don’t need to say some of the things we think out loud, do we?

P.S. That deck rail is finally painted a nice gray color.  Five entire days, I painted.  I might be tired and a little short-tempered, but geez, it is nice to remove that albatross.  Of course, I wear albatrosses like an elderly maven wears Diamonelles, but one less is one less.

09.01.17
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We Now Direct You to Bad Poem-a-Week

I did it (again).  31 poems in 31 days.  Some were good and you agreed, some I thought were good probably weren’t, and some of the bad ones were at least entertaining.  

I like this stunt that I’ve pulled, and I appreciate each and every comment or like–they make me feel less like I’m throwing an envelope into the ocean.  Thanks, also, to new followers who felt it was interesting enough to become part of the group.  

I’ve decided to post a new poem once a week from here on out.  The quality should go up as the quantity goes down, but that isn’t a given, is it?  I think I’ll post them on Sundays.  I’ll continue as long as someone is being entertained.  

I also have some book things happening, and school is starting so I can work full-time on those.  Here’s to hoping we all have a rip-roaring finish to 2017.  See you on Sundays.

Much love, Rebecka