Tumble, tumble, trees come down
Beside the graves, on and around.
The aging pines were fit no more
To grace the cemetery shore.
Undulating hills now bright
And shorn of shade and bathed in light
Are somehow bare, though marked by stones,
Are somehow bald, though filled with bones.
Monday, April 1, 2013
Oy, life with two kids instead of one, while trying to exercise, read books, and overthrow the local soil and water commissionar.... Well, I've lost track of responsibilities.... like the occasional haiku.
So over at Mr. D's we were blabbing about something or another and I asked him an innocent question, "What do you think about lawn games?" Now what I was expecting was an enthusiastic espousal of a particular lawn game, such as the following, "I would sell my first born child to play a good game of Kub on a proper lawn with good quality hard wood."
But no. He says that he's against them. Communist. But I responded with tact:
The Jarts of Justice
Raining down on Mr. D.
He replied that he thought the haiku was somewhat forceful, not to say violent, coming from a minister of the cloth. I didn't think so at all. I asserted as much with the following:
Bocce balls will creep
Like angry iron ninjas
To kiss your sweet sleep.
Delicate. Picturesque. Entirely in keeping with my calling.
I still can't believe he doesn't like lawn games, though. Crazy.