February haiku - the end?

February ends
springs out in the month of March
wills winter away

A sad observation

Shy sadness inveigles
a youngster
She sits across from me
saying very little
but her still silhouette
conveys deep scars
from too early sufferings.
Impotent rage screams
within my brains why?
Children needs to be
given sanctuary -
they do not need
all the crap adults fight.
Anger grabs hold
Wondering who did this
Should be punished.
Alas, if it were that simple.

Saturday pm - miffed

I do not have to write
every day
I do not have to oust
every say
accept what I cannot do
with reluctance
just know that this pm is
happenstance.

bored in burb

Bored stiff in suburbia
What is there to do
On a Monday night
But go shopping
In a local center?
Sadly vilely and
Not conducive to
Any brainy kind
Of comment on
The world's utter
Commercialism.
Noticing new colors
For spring as old
In my childhood
Seams up or down
Doesn't matter
Cause it is more
Of the repeating
Patterns of the year.
Wishing for something
New and exciting
A new event, a whim
Of some little spark.
Old battery needs
Recharging in the burbs.

More on mores

Chevalieresque behavior
of the Medieval troubadour
tends to be lauded as gentle
towards its defenseless females.
Raping the adored highborn
justified by she wanted it
A womanly singer's song
defies and mocks the "true" mores.

Is it spring?

February sun
warms asphalt, heats dirt
so tulips get the idea
it is time.
February nights
show the flowers the chill
the temporalis muscle
works in time.

Dog eat dog

Dog eats dog world
For no reason at all
Dog walks dog bites dog
It is just because
Randomness shown
By crazy animal
Life's a bitch.

While listening

Elisir d'amore
out over the ether
bella encore
opera for neither
the uppity
nor the downity
just appreciation
an amalgamation
of taste in music
c'est tout sic!

King Cake

I have a job to do
To bake a big goo
To find the recipe
Is far too easy
Cause there are so many
On the net's horn of plenty.
It is hard to pick the right one
Let's hope the job will be done
Whether well or not
I'll give it my utter shot
a king's cake - play the brass
in honor of mardi gras.

Procrastination

Walking needed
just didn't feel
up to it
so delegated the
dog walking job - .
I am the one to suffer
because I truly
need the exercise.

One day out and tomorrow
oh yes - another day
and maybe not,
odds are 50/50.
Living in the now
I have to follow
my sense of the body
and it said no.

My mind knows I should've
and could've and must've.
Alas the rope of lassez-faire
caught me empty-handed
and I let myself go.

Lucretia and Pietro

Lucretia:
Oh wild worshiper
of the female body
will thou have me again?
Not the husband of mine
but you - a holy man -
flame my Venus mount
only to count the interim
until our essences
bloom once more
as the strength of minds
split into a glow
from the ignition
willed to be for now
the splendor from
your staff - an osmosis
to smother my inner needs.

Pietro:
My dearest goddess
of love and war and truly
a blend of everything
known to man -
you knowest I desire
only you and your mind
cause with the mating
we blend our psyches
and that melange
is what makes you (and I)
a world apart from
the sordid belittling
people hating society
around us - I love
to enter your true self
tickle and tease you
to insane delight.

Lucretia:
You talk to much
about the world outside
about what we shouldn't do
instead of worshiping
what we have here.
Horsewhipping me
is what I need every time
and you are to do it
with your divine obelisk.
Please next time
I want the full treasure
of your articulation
to the degree of
sensuous delirium.

Pietro:
AH, you command me
mistress of my mind
to belt you with my cudgel
and my tongue,
I shall command
and you will obey my
every stroke of thought
every inch of desire
shall be known to you
you shall know thyself
to a visceral degree
that you one day may wish
you never would have achieved.
I shall exploit you
and your curvaceous
exciting scaffolding
while playing lute
to your wild fantasies.

On reading about the affair of Lucrezia Borgia
and Pietro Bembo. Unfortunately I have not
yet read their love letters, but this is my
modern rendition of what it could have been.

Bump in the head

A bump in the head
Will make you bleed
A rump in the bed
Will make you concede
That a rump is better
Than a bump and bleeding
Like a pig isn't conceiving.
So when you hit your knocker
And you go to the local ER
Say to yourself what the f**er
It could have been a saboteur.