Late Night Haiku XVI

XXXXIV. Tattered, it flutters,
“Is this all there was for me?”
Quoth the butterfly.

XXXXV. Late summer evening,
Not as musical as before,
Bugs sing their last songs.

XXXXVI. Was it yesterday,
That summer's joy passed by me,
While I looked elsewhere?

Chariot Unslowed

“So like an empty coffee cup in June,
The winds of time blow me away too soon,
And so I tremble, question as I fade,
What does a life once lived do as a shade?
As weary sands do shift from dune to dune,
My melody is rift for a new tune.

The clock strikes now, why not tomorrow?
Its sound leaves me with naught but sorrow.”

The people pass, their heavy bags in tow,
As if the winds ne’er rain out a show,
“To shame! To shame! A shade have I become
To me full unawares – whilst beats life’s drum?
Please stop, oh death worn drum! Bring on the lyre!
Extend the wick where burns the fearsome fire!

The clock strikes now, why not tomorrow?
Its sound leaves me with naught but sorrow.”

“A little here I swung at hopes of glory,
Far more I gave to live in money’s story,
I conquered many things, enlarged my realm,
A master of my life I steered the helm!”
What waits for you, old questioner, what port?
What’s left? What mark is left of your great court?

“The clock strikes now, why not tomorrow?
Its sound leaves me with naught but sorrow.

“From days came weeks, from weeks came years misled,
A promise for the next, unkept, unsaid.
Unnoticed for some greater good, I stayed
Upon the safer path I had long strayed,
Further moving myself from my hoped goals,
Ignoring them brought me to greater tolls.

The clock strikes now, why not tomorrow?
Its sound leaves me with naught but sorrow.”

The chimes vibrate the ‘bandoned coffee cup,
It rolls along where he had hoped to sup,
A mix of blinded force and choice did lead,
To this a finished act, unopened deed.
Planned not to fault the thing, the point was missed,
And left to cry once more behind the mist,

“The clock strikes now, why not tomorrow?
Its sound leaves me with naught but sorrow.”

Late Night Haiku XV

XXXXI. A stream babbles on,
Night slips into a new morn,
It is time to move on.

XXXXII. Moving. Seem to be,
But wasn't I hear last year?
Maybe I've not budged.

XXXXIII. Five, Seven, Five. It goes
simply. The Haiku cares not,
It just records thoughts.

Late Night Haiku XIV

XXXVIII. Time. When did it pass?
The winged chariot flew by
When I looked away.

XXXIX. Wind fluttered the leaves,
A friendly voice heard near too,
Fade as distant now.

XXXX. Summer's energy
Burns fast in the waning days,
Do the crickets know?

Late Night Haiku XIII

XXXV. Peaches so very fresh,
Burst with flavor when eaten.
The summer flavor!

XXXVI. Silence emanates
Where a lively voice once talked,
Something fades away.

XXXVII. Birds float, water glistens,
A tree rustles in the heat,
Unrelenting. Warm.

Late Night Haiku XII

XXXII. A locust chirps soft,
A cry for the rush of time
To slow just a bit.

XXXIII. Signs abound to enter
The journey's new, wide roads,
But not exit ramps.

XXXIV. I ask tomorrow
What might perchance to happen.
Answers mix with noise.

Late Night Haiku XI

XXIX.
Confusion abounds,
In the quiet of the night
What treads forward next?

XXX.
What a day it was,
Now conquered by better night,
May sleep come sweetly.

XXXI.
A touch of Spring comes,
Birds rejoice in melody,
Think not of winter.

Late Night Haiku X

XXVI.
Hope erodes at times
To the loneliness of truth,
But it does not die.

XXVII.
Autumn leaves pass by,
Season grows shorter briskly now,
Oh! To slow the end.

XXVIII.
A stream bubbles, faint,
As my thoughts like water flow,
Will they come ashore?

To Tell A Story

I've been feeling in a reflective mood the past few days. I decided to write a letter to a friend reminiscing about a nice event last fall. It was going to be about a one page letter — in fact, I thought I might handwrite the final draft (I'm convinced handwritten notes are still preferable to typed in many respects). Well, that ain't happ'n. I said I was in a reflective mood, right? Well, I was really in that mood — the one page letter turned into a five an a half single-spaced page story (4,100 words). As is my usual mode of editing, each attempt to pare it down makes it longer. At times, my words can be like Tribbles (good thing I'm not a Klingon).

In other words, I'm wordy. Very wordy. It is at times like these, I wonder how I ever manage to meet the 600 word requirements for an op-ed… It is also at times like these I wonder if maybe I really should get into politics. Seriously, I have been known to win a debate solely on the fact that I can keep churning out words until everyone has grown tired of debating with me (of course, I'm right, which helps).

Byte Wasting Project

I've been working on a small project over the summer moths: creating a tragedy (as in a play, not trying to cause something bad to happen). Whether it will fulfill the Shakespearian-Jonsonian-Senecan five act mold is still up in the air, but it does follow Aristotle's guidelines for tragedy fairly closely. I don't expect that Aristotle will put my play in place of Oedipus Rex in the next edition of Poetics, but at least it wouldn't risk becoming an example of a non-unified, episodic plot lacking catharsis, hopefully.

I have not decided what to do with the play yet, perhaps it'll just rot in my bit bucket, but in the mean time, I thought I'd see if anyone would be interested in taking a look at a draft of it. There are much better things you can do with your time, but if you're a glutton for punishment, let me know. Depending on how Melpomene assists, it may be done later this week, or it may be a few more weeks before I get it to you.