Haiku 1 (Spring)

verdigris of spring’s
intoxicating perfume:
yellow miasma

General Burnside

General Burnside is my hero,
He’s greater than Caesar, Khan, or Nero,
For his cheeks were always far from bare-
He was the king of facial hair!
Razors would tremble and shriek with fear
Whenever Burnside’s face was near.
He led the North against the South
With mighty whiskers atop his mouth.
Courtly and suave, a dapper fellow,
You’d never catch him in red or yellow
But ever in Blue! The Union’s hue!
Whenever he’d eat his bowl of stew
He’d strain the broth through his moustache
And bellow “General Lee is trash!”

Stand aside Elvis, Away, Neil Young!
Your time is over! Your song is sung!
Your burns and mutton chops are weak,
But Burnside’s beard was never meek!
History simply cannot erase
The hair from General Burnside’s face.

You Curl Like A Kitten

You curl like a kitten
Lying in the sun;
You stretch and squeal
And breathe, and smile
At me,
And I’m too drunk to walk.

Your skin is soft,
And smooth to touch-
You look at me
And breathe, and smile
At me,
And I’m dizzy.

Your hair cascades
Down your perfect white back
You close your eyes
And breathe, and smile
At me,
And I forget
That there ever was a time
When I was not yours.

A Sonnet

And as the petals fall from flowery trees
The world beyond us dims and fades away;
The twilight wind blows silent symphonies-
No words, because there are no words to say.
In shadows cast beneath the moonlit skies
Stand giants, lions, gods, and kings-
With glimpses of tomorrow in their eyes
They watch us from a yesterday that sings
Her haunting, melancholy melody,
And nothing but the warmth and tremble of
Your touch can tame the whirling revelry.
The statues melt like snowflakes while above
Us, brilliant as it passes from our sight,
A thousand dying suns light up the night.