Mas Haikus

oldies but goodies

Please

Lets not pretend that
we don't think of each other
once or twice a day

ZZZZ'

A soft aroma
of laundry scents flannel sheets
as I drift to sleep

Nutella

Scrumptious chocolate
and hazelnut butters my
toast, how delightful!

Rountineagers: Obligatory PDA

Routineagers will be a series of writings relating to the profound banality of teenage life. Stay tuned kids, you won't want to miss this...

Morning shnookums! Hows your day?
It's time for our obligatory PDA
So lets get frisky, and block this hall way
Jean Baptiste Pierre Antoine de Monet.

We get at it and our peers skirt the scene
A bubble gum binder held awkwardly in between
As we rehearse an ancient mating routine
8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13.

Have you ever witnessed something so contrived?
Since American cheese, or Priscilla's Bee Hive?
Since six-inch stilettos, or those mail order wives?
Organically Grown Hypoallergenic Endive.

More Casseroles?

Here we are, once again on a Tuesday night. I showed up at your door bearing a thermos of soup and warm bread. An appreciative smile escapes from the crevices of your small bird-like eyes. We eat in an easy warm silence as always although I can tell you've grown weaker. Naturally, my left hand deftly shovels chicken and noodles into my mouth because my rights is reassuringly clutching yours. Soft and thin shiny skin covers brittle bones that still offer a promisingly firm grip. I want to cry, but I don't because tears are a scarce substance in my world. However I do wonder if a few of those salty droplets would altar the flavor of my soup. I haven't tasted much lately anyways and I know your taste buds haven't had the pleasure of tasting since 2003.
Seven years. Look how far you've made it. I can't say I'm happy for you, for I know there is somewhere else you would much rather be, but I am grateful. Grateful for you gracing us with your wisdom for seven more lonesome years. A lot can happen in seven lonesome years. A girl can become a woman, a house a home, and mourning a lifestyle.
An intrinsic characteristic of the lifestyle of mourning is one's relationship with photographs. Their memories become life-like companions in a drafty three-bedroom track house of a single inhabitant. There have been many times when I've let myself in the door and witnessed you chatting with her two-dimensional self. Sepia shadows lovingly contour her cheek bones as the brightest brown eyes you'll ever see gaze towards the light of a perfect Rembrandt. Bushy brown hair gleams in a perfectly styled 1940's up do framing an exotic yet wholesome face. You tell me I have her features joking, "Someday your going to poke someones eye out with those cheeks if your not careful!"--the comparison is flattery at it's finest.
I set you up comically close to the television in your easy chair and let the lullaby of the Lakers serenade you to sleep while I do the dishes and let myself out. The volume is on maximum.

Farewell little fish!

Little fish
in a porcelain bowl
white and shiny
wet and smelly
little fish
gush!
in
swim
in
haste
and settle
flush!
evidence gone,
erased.

Pearly Gates

"Saved"...you say?
Hmmm, not sure
but let's put it this way:
I do my best
just A-okay
and try my darndest
to behave
and if I happen to see
you up there on
judgment's day,
I'll be sure to give
a hardy wave.

The Lament of a Routinager

a product of 9th grade emo-liciousness

It's not too safe to swim with shark bait
as her words of wisdom permeate
my numskull enters a spell bound state,
and I realize why we have learned to hate
our inevitably dull and washed up fate.

Because some lifetimes in this world can go by
like a whisper of wind or a silent sigh
so carpe the jugular and forget about why
cause' you'll always regret what you never did try
and you'll also forget why you never did try
the ones who survive are the ones who aim aim high

and the lamenting routinagers just drenched in their woes
I'm also quite certain I don't want to be one of those
and the self righteous pity at the tip of your nose
poisons the body straight down to your toes
and now your bitterly reaping the seeds that you sow
bitterly reaping the seeds that you sow.

Because some lifetimes in this world can go by
like a whisper of wind of a silent sigh
so take many chances before it's too late
because the life that you live is the one you create
and a life that you love is a life you don't waste
and the life that you waste is the life that you hate
the life that you hate is the life you might take
and a life that is taken
is a life that's forsaken

I see some silent sighs just passing me by
some muffled lies just passing me by
some feeble tries just passing me by
some desperate cries just passing me by
then somebody tries
to fly and then dies
and we all just get by
and wonder a little why

cause' the life you forsake is the life that you take
the life that you take is the life that you hate
the life that you hate is the life that you waste
the life that you waste is the life you create
so take many chances before it's too late
cause' the world we create will control our own fate.

Casseroles-intro

The fragrance of vintage cuisine filled her nostrils and made the lead ball inside her stomach double in weight. The rest of the procession had arrived. There is something about death that signals a sudden dire need for casseroles to your fellow parishioners, mainly the elderly and devout church ladies who bustle about with their purses chock full of coffee drops and smelling of slightly stale perfume. Sarah imagined each of them meticulously preparing their dishes in a cozy, cluttered kitchen, following a sacred recipe memorized years ago when high schools still offered Home Economics as "A necessary subject for young ladies," directly from the the only book held in equal regards to the Bible, the original Betty Crocker Cook Book. She tried to muster some appreciation for the women's effort but could not help feeling it was in vain. You see, no matter how much care you put into it, tuna and pasta that is smothered in cheese and condensed soup, and baked for hours (*until a light brown crust has formed and the soup is bubbling) cannot embed life back into a limp corpse. Death is the ultimate permanent. Not even Campbell's Cream of Mushroom can persuade it to undo it's deeds.