Haiku Confab

Collaboration - 30 poems 30 images 30 days - Day 17 red leads anger past pink's plump loveliness into gray's dark labyrinth. Image: Heather Protz , 2011.

Collaboration - 30 poems 30 images 30 days - Day 16 Bombastic taco that's what a burrito is don't be so fancy Today's haiku brought to you by Frederick Merrill Samuel Bailie, age 11. Image: Heather Protz , 2011.

Collaboration - 30 poems 30 images 30 days - Day 15 Containers, coffers bottles, bags, cities, people. discard when empty. Image: Heather Protz , 2011.

Collaboration - 30 poems 30 images 30 days - Day 14 redemption is found under the sign of the cross, where drunks, pigeons sleep. Image: Heather Protz , 2011.

Collaboration - 30 poems 30 images 30 days - Day 13 Stripped cleared scrubbed swept stacked sorted divided arranged discussed settled sold Image: Heather Protz , 2011.

Collaboration - 30 poems 30 images 30 days - Day 12 In hell's fifth circle eternity spent rowing for t-shirts and hats Image: Heather Protz , 2011.

Collaboration - 30 poems 30 images 30 days - Day 11 Deconstructing truth. Identity. Certainty. Logic of despair. Image: Heather Protz , 2011.

Collaboration - 30 poem 30 images 30 days - Day 10 Who lived here, loved here? Can you hear that? It's the sound of our dreams dying. Image: Heather Protz , 2011.

Collaboration - 30 poem 30 images 30 days - Day 9 When does metaphor morph into reality? We're the red menace. Image: Heather Protz , 2011.

Collaboration - 30 poems 30 images 30 days - Day 8 Forget herbicide. Your poison won't stop us from coming for you. Image: Heather Protz , 2011.

Collaboration - 30 poems 30 images 30 days - Day 7 I'm looking for God anywhere everywhere unlikely places Image: Heather Protz , 2011

Collaboration - 30 poem 30 images 30 days - Day 6 dirt, crow, humble pie my shorts, your words, my hat, shit. you eat with that mouth? Image: Heather Protz , 2011

Collaboration - 30 poems 30 images 30 days - Day 5  Cities are like hands nimble and strong in their youth gnarled near the end. Image: Heather Protz , 2011

Collaboration - 30 images 30 poems 30 days - Day 4 Brain cells flash and burn hot as a house fire, fast as a life spent waiting. Image: Heather Protz , 2011

Collaboration - 30 images 30 poems 30 days - Day 3 This ain't no peep show you can scratch your way into. Pay up or fuck off. Image: Heather Protz , 2011

Collaboration - 30 poems 30 images 30 days - Day 2   Harsh light of high noon disrobes our hidden places. Lays the widow bare. Image: Heather Protz , 2011

 Collaboration - 30 poems 30 images 30 days - Day 1 Daddy's little girl reflects a ruined culture that's for sale dirt cheap. Image: Heather Protz , 2011

Your sugary tears  have made me drunk and hungry. Let me lap them up. Like a purring cat begging for a bowl of milk, my mewing won't stop. You're hurt, let me soothe your wounded spirit with love. You can't resist. Touch. Photo: Sculpture at Allen Memorial Art Museum, Oberlin College.

She's been pushed over the metaphorical edge. Plummeting too fast. If you saw her fall while flying overhead, would you dive to catch her? Or let her fall while climbing ever higher as she shatters to bits. From ten thousand feet a tragedy unfolding can look alluring. Like oil on water blooming blue, orange, and red in the mid-day sun. Photo: (c) Cindy Bailie

Writing a novel is getting in the way of writing a haiku.

Crushed leaves of wild thyme scent of your essential oil is heady, sublime.

If able to fly what would I be? Dragonfly, angel, butterfly? Would my wings be built for speed, soaring, hovering over dense forests? Would I need wings to lift me high into the sky for quick getaways?

Stinging whip of rules keeps the untamed animals from showing themselves. We could benefit from unleashing some feral   creativity. Illuminating we've lost our way, down a path we've been forced to clear. Hacking at the brush that grows right back as we watch. Endless, meaningless. Take your inner beast for a walk in the tangle. Trample down a new path. Making up new rules. Following where it takes you. Revealing no fear.

Who cares about plot? One well chosen word contains an ocean of plots. Diving too deep breaks the surface tension of one beautiful word.

I've got nothing now. Spent my money betting on love, hope, the future.

Red pomegranate, your seeds may be bitter, but your nectar is sweet. Green watermelon heavy with succulent flesh, spill your sticky seeds. Spiny skin be damned. Prickly pear, give up your pink luscious sweetness, now.