31 December 2014

A Plethora of Haiku to End the Year On

By Bud Koenemund

  I haven't been neglecting The Chimes at Midnight -- not really. It's just that 2014 has been a wildly productive year both sonnet- (http://madsonneteer.blogspot.com/) and short story-wise (http://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=1374542&page=submissions).

  Since I have other sites for those works, I didn't want to duplicate by posting them here. I do, however, have a mess o' haiku I wrote for a particular person. I penned them in October and November, as support for their spirit; to help during a trying time, and to remind them they were not alone. I intended to write a little something every day for 90 days. This person didn't appreciate them...but, that's another story.

Enjoy.

---------------------------------------------------------


I
 At times, this journey
can seem so lonely; but know
you are not alone.


II
I would bear your pain,
if I could, to grant your soul
a few moments peace.


III
Our greatest treasures –
peace and love – are so often
found only within.


IV
Oft’, life’s greatest joy
lies in the simplicity
of another’s smile.


V
Shadows of despair
are exiled by the light of
rekindled spirit.


VI
Poetry’s power
is that it both frees demons,
and keeps them at bay.


VII
When blue, I recall
your hue the night I met you,
and my cheer renews.


VIII
Sans inspiration,
imagination is a
dormant volcano.


IX
Blind faith shouldn’t mean
rejecting the truth when it
challenges belief.


X
The heat of our shame
cannot compare to the hell
where betrayers dwell.


XI
Contemplation of
the stars can make us feel small
…or miraculous.


XII
Though it lours o’er
your mind like clouds, incest’s shame
is not your shadow.


XIII
If there is a God,
and He (or She) is righteous,
truth will heal spirit.


XIV
Accepting the past
does not mean forgiving hurt,
but forging ahead.


XV
You alone can play
the heroine to your soul.
I? Plucky sidekick.


XVI
Though thou art absent,
know there are some in whose thoughts
you shall daily dwell.


XVII
Madam; wouldst thou think
ill if my haiku skills stink?
Is’t all wasted ink?


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