Often posted to the 17 or haiku groups on identi.ca:

Standing by the track, hoping to catch the earliest passing cool breeze.

And there it goes away on the breeze, my fried brain.

incoming douchebags
often bring out those feelings
undeserved but true.

Where some see lines, others feel sight pulled taught across imagination.

get out of the way
linguistic commentators
let words sing and shine.

I want naught but love
though less physical than that
lovely connection.

A nearly full moon
wearing a fast cloak of cloud
calls forth a fresh Spring.

And yes, I know some people roll their eyes at short forms. “The short forms aren't enough work to be poetry.” The other side is that they're accessible to all. Anyone can add a little form to an observation. That renders it special simply by intent. And poetic, by intent to be formed and special. I have no illusions about speaking deep truths or grand images. I just speak. That's all I can do.

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