Haikus for yous

Bad poetry because I'm in that sort of mood.

Short staccato verse.
latent emotion evoked.
Style dictates content?

29 Beckwith drive.
Longmeadow, Massachusetts
Amichai J. Greene

Dessert for breakfast
cannot nearly compare to
breakfast in the desert.

Wasting all my time
writing nonsense instead of
searching for a job.

A poem for valentines day

Macaroni and Cheese
a prose poem

Mr. Smith had come home to his wife only to find she was dead.

“You’re dead?” He asked.

“No, I’m just resting face down on the cold kitchen floor. Or course I’m dead you idiot.” She yelled at him.

“Did you make me any dinner?”

“Yes, there is some Macaroni and Cheese in the refrigerator. You just have to put it in the oven for about fifteen minutes and it will be ready.”

“Thank you.” Mr. Smith said as he stepped over his wife's body and opened the refrigerator to get to his macaroni and cheese. “As long as I’m here do you want anything?” Mr. Smith asked politely.

“No you idiot. I’m dead.”

“No need to get snippy.” Mr. Smith said. “Boy, you sure are cranky when you’re dead.”

Short story in honor of valentine's day

The Happy Couple

Mr. Smith was walking home one day to notice a large skeletal foot sticking out of the ground. Carefully so that no child would trip over it Mr. Smith decided to pull it out of the dirt. The foot however was stuck and refused to move from it’s designated spot. Mr. Smith being a nice man took off his coat and started digging. It wasn’t too long until Mr. Smith had uncovered an entire skeleton.

“What business have you here?” The Skeleton asked Mr. Smith.
“Why? I just wanted to move your foot so that no child would trip as they walked home from school.” Mr. Smith replied.
“And you just decided to move my foot without asking?” The Skeleton asked angrily.
“I meant no disrespect, just looking out for the children you know.”
“Well I’m awake now and it always takes me forever to fall back to sleep. Do you mind keeping my spot warm as I run off for a cup of tea.”

Not knowing what else to do Mr. Smith sat down in the hole he had dug as the skeleton walked away.
“When will you return?” Mr. Smith called after the calcium clad creature that slowly vanished in the distance.
“Never you worry about that.” The Skeleton replied and continued on it’s way.
“But you aren’t dressed so no one will sell you tea.” The Skeleton realized the truth to the statement, turned around and very nicely asked to borrow Mr. Smith’s clothes.
“Here you go.” Mr. Smith said as he climbed back into the hole naked. “It is the least I can do.”

Later after Mr. Smith had fallen asleep in the Skeletons bed some children happened to be walking home from school.
“Oh no, an open grave, we should fill it up so that no adult falls in and hurts themselves.” One of the children said. So the other children began filling up the hole with Mr. Smith inside. As they finished they walked away proud they had potentially saved a life.

The Skeleton returned not much later with a cup of tea in hand unable to find his resting place. It was then that Mrs. Smith was out drving the town looking for her husband.
“Get in the car you silly old man.” Mrs. Smith said to the Skeleton. “I leave you alone for a day and you lose too much weight. Come home dear husband so that I may fatten you up once agian.” The Skeleton just shrugged, got into the car and drove home. “I can’t leave you a second with out you getting into trouble.” Mrs. Smith said. The skeleton said nothing, not knowing how to respond.

When Mr. Smith awoke later he cursed the skeleton who he beleived had tricked him. He tried to climb out of the ground but then died from lack of oxygen.

Mrs. Smith and the Skeleton lived happily ever after.

A prose poem

The would be Angel

An Angel decided to see what it was like being a man so it grew a penis and went to Earth.

“Hey, look at that funny looking angel.” A little boy said to his sister.

“I’m not an angel, I’m a man, look at my penis.” The Angel retorted.

“No you aren’t.” The sister said. “Men don’t walk around naked.” So quickly the angel put on some pants.

“See, I’m a man.” The Angel said now dressed.

“No you aren’t. Men don’t have wings.” The brother said.

“Oh.” So the Angel took off it’s wings and placed them on the ground. Quickly the brother and sister each took a wing held hands and started to fly.

“Hey! Where are you going with my wings?” The Angel asked.

“Your wings? They can’t be your wings.” The airborne couple replied.

“Why not?” The Angel asked angrily.

“Because men don’t have wings.” The siblings said as they flew up to heaven.

“I guess not.” The man admitted as he watched the two children grow smaller in the distance.

Death of a poetry student: a poem

My Last Will and Testament
Or
What I leave behind.

Prologue: A social commentary in five oblique parts describing why my dog died when I was five and why I’m scarred for life, doomed to live an insane lifestyle only the true artist can understand.

1) At the end of each sentence a fellow student laughs and comments to the irritation of others. She did not kill my dog but I would prefer that she had so I'll have a legitimate reason for my hatred.

2) The voices I pretend I hear tell me to write with indifference. I am a genius never to be understood in my lifetime. Thus, I must drink myself into a stupor and ingest multitudes of legal and illegal narcotics. And when I hear a car drive by followed by the barking of a dog I shed a tear.

3) The lost song of my loved one, never met as of now. I dream of her loving touch. Her caress to soothe me from my overbearing pain.

4) I remember being made fun of in high school. This is why I now wear only black and smoke only exotic foreign cigarettes. This is why I have a tattoo of e.e. cummings as a vampire displayed across my back. This is why I scoff at anything less than inspired.

5) Then I remember I never had a dog. In fact I’m allergic to dogs. Just more of my deep inner pain.

Epilogue: Finally. I expect to die an early death, most likely a suicide. My note left to the living shall be written in haiku, preferably in the original Japanese. I expect my words to be ignored until my tragic end wherein critics suddenly change their minds and my genius is finally realized.