And How Much Could You Say In Just 17 Syllables, You Bastard?

Dead ends bring new starts

turning back to a new view

of this deja vu.


Past reels tossed away

shooting new pictures is still

a split second old.


They’ve seen the fires

still they smoke their lives away

watching bodies burn.


Yawns into the phone

could be muffled, but are not.

Breath says more than words.


The clown says, “Screw it!”

and walks home in his makeup

and big floppy shoes.


This haiku got lost

on its way to becoming

my greatest sonnet.


I would kill for one.

Really. I love Klondike Bars

enough to murder.


Spinning into sin

the feeble conscience gives in

to its own spiral.


White touch of God’s brush

cotton on the horizon

the cloud sails away.



6 thoughts on “And How Much Could You Say In Just 17 Syllables, You Bastard?

    1. cottonbombs Post author

      Thank you. I think I could write a mean fortune cookie. “That greasy Chinese dinner has clogged your arteries.” or, “You should go wash your hands,” might be keepers in the fortune cookie industry. Or, “Really? You’re expecting wisdom from a cookie? Why don’t you try a muffin?” I’m just spitballing on the page, but suddenly I’m in the mood for Chinese.

  1. granbee

    Peter, you are Da One! These haiku are all perfect in their own way, but I think the first and the last ones are placed exactly as they should be. You began well, and you finished even better.

    1. cottonbombs Post author

      Rose! These, like most of my haiku collections were written over the space and span of many years. When I stumble on one from an old journal I’m browsing through, I add it to a growing list. The only hard part is giving order to such chaos. I am happy you liked the order.


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