A Zombie Love Song

My skin is sloughing off my frame,
Oh yes, my bones stick through
But that won’t change the fact, my dear
That I’m in love with you

For while I was quite recently
A corpse laid in the ground
I have recovered well, you’ll see
from time beneath that mound

I know I don’t form words too well
And walk with awkward gait,
But oh, my darling, please don’t run
That’s right! Just stop and wait

My pet, I hunger for your love
Together can’t we be?
Oh let me taste of you, sweet girl
You are a feast for me

My love for you will never end
though plagued with ill and pain
I’m not concerned one whit with looks
I love you for your brain

With Outstretched Arms

I wait with outstretched arms. I am a constant invitation, though I know that my guests come, only to say goodbye. What is given to my one hand is just as quickly removed from the other. My life is a zero-sum equation, for my purpose is neither to gain, nor to lose. I wait with outstretched arms.

and always
– beneath –
the river runs away


At dVerse, Grace wants us to write a contemporary haibun with “bridge” being the focus

We are the children

we are the ones who
see the diesel fumes so thick they colour the air
we are the ones who
HEAR the sound of air scrubbers that have replaced the trees
we are the ones who
feel the cold concrete and steel that stretches to the sky
we are the ones who
t a s t e the laboratory synthesized food
we are the ones who
smell the stench of death and decay
we are the children who are
aware that our future

is being stolen

before it even begins


at dVerse, Bjorn has asked us to write poems in the futurist style.  I really don’t know if I did this right, but decided I should make the attempt anyway.

The War on Maple Bugs – Part 10

I suspect that most generals who have commanded soldiers in battle have done things that they are not proud of.  Sometimes those things might have been conscious choices, but sometimes they have simply reacted to circumstances without consciously realizing, at the time, that they had done something wrong.

Today I watched my 11 year old son creep through the trenches (our kitchen) to take out an enemy scout, and I realized that someone who is only 11 years of age should not be involved in active combat.

I had to ask myself, “Have I truly brought even my children into the conflict?”.  So I asked my 6 year old son if he had killed any maple bugs, and to my shame, he told me with great pride, “I killed 61 at my school!”  Not only showing that he is, indeed, a child soldier, but is even seeking out other fronts at which to engage the enemy.

children in combat
may make you see red
but at least they are making
some maple bugs dead!

When Sparks Don’t Fly

Love’s got nothing to do with
sparks that fly
when fingertips touch
instead, it’s a choice
that’s made day by day
and minute by minute
and is often more
of slogging through muck
than making moon-eyes
but if done right
sparks will still happen!


written for the dVerse Quadrille prompt of using the word “spark” in a poem of exactly 44 words.

The war on maple bugs- part 9

When waging any war, never underestimate the importance of a propaganda campaign. Making the enemy look as inhuman as possible is the best hope you have of keeping your soldiers willing to slaughter those enemy beasts.  Of course, this is not too much of a challenge for me as my enemy is not human at all!

The maple bugs, on the other hand, are trying a rather unique tactic: trying to rob me and my army of our humanity.

Today, for example, as my wife was preparing to put a bouquet of Alstroemerias in a vase, an enemy tried to suck the joy of of the task by drowning itself in the water. It seems that they believe that suicide tactics will terrorize us into submission.

Any sort of buggy death
By their hand or by mine
Is one less bug to bother me
No matter how it died is fine!

There are no exceptions

We are taught from early on
that everyone dies
some lives are long, and others are short
but the truth remains fixed:
that everyone dies
some deaths are predicted:
“he has cancer,
and we estimate he has
six months to live”
and some lives are cut
tragically short
but we all know
that eventually, everyone dies

and yet, even though we all know
that everyone dies
we are left
gasping for air
and refusing to believe
that even our loved ones
are not exempt from the fact
that everyone dies


I’ll be sharing this with OLN at dVerse today.

The Room

It was obvious that once, the room had been quite pretty.  Now, though, the peeling paint, chipped furniture, and cracked window spoke of the room’s history.  This room was a metaphor of the occupant’s life since coming to this country.

She had come with so much hope.  How had things come to this?

how could she know
that his threats against her family
were nothing more than the wind
that howled just beyond her door?


Another response to Bjorn’s haibun prompt, where he has asked us to write about cities…and has encouraged us to write about the darker aspects of the city.  Human trafficking is, perhaps, one of the darkest aspects of any city.

The War on Maple Bugs – Part 8

Yesterday, while writing Part 7 on my encounters with the enemy, I was alerted to the fact that there was a saboteur in the next room.  One of the insurgents was crawling around the siren of our Early Warning System, seeking for a place of ingress so that it could disable one of the systems designed to protect us from certain types of attack.

Could it be that the insurgents have discovered the secret of fire, but are merely waiting until they have disabled our smoke detectors?

the disk that hangs upon the wall
to warn us all of fire…
could it be sabotaged by bugs?
now THAT would raise my ire!