My door open, but
the rooms are empty, thoughts like
forgotten relics.
Abandoned haiku blog
4
My door open, but
the rooms are empty, thoughts like
forgotten relics.
My door open, but
the rooms are empty, thoughts like
forgotten relics.
Can days be merry
and bright? Jobs – like ornaments –
fragile, out of reach.
Flat mapped names turn in-
to forested hills, roads wind
towards adventure.
“Let’s go to the beach!”
One kid, online, shrugs as the
other keeps texting.
“In a typical week, only 6 percent of children ages nine to thirteen play outside on their own.”
from The Option of Urbanism: Investing in a New American Dream by Christopher B. Leinberger
Rumbles of thunder
promise that soon fat raindrops
will bring refreshment.
Formally over
twelve years of learning to look
good on this one night.
Deciding who to
take like negotiating
Mideast peace treaty.
The play was about
them. His unrequited love
her indifference.
He sent sensitive
documents to a stranger
thinking it was me.
All around it, the
town is dead. Pity the poor
taken investors.