My “Failed Haiku”

Copyright 2020 Bruce Jewett
My haiku/senryu which has appeared in

FAILED HAIKU, edited by Mike Rehling


in my rear mirror
I watch you put on lipstick
then the light turns green



bull frogs blink
a drunken poet
falls in their pond

Chinese chef
on death row
dead man woking



pink fingernails
laquered with gilt
my banker offers a pen

young women
in day-glo dresses
wait for their latte



cats chase laser dots
no happiness here
only its pursuit

in lilting Japanese
she bows to a caller
on the telephone



nike shoes hang
on a telephone wire
jays shriek like teens

sunset on the prairie
shadows of grain elevators
ramshackle castles



raking dry grass
piles of black pellets
deer nod their thanks

swept up by a heron
the koi looks down
hey, there’s my pond!



a true marvel
the candidate’s trousers
didn’t ignite

god must’ve blown
them all out– skies
empty of stars



led by their devices
hunters stream pass
oleander blooms

rattling compressor
vinyl pumpkins inflate
my neighbor’s lawn



long dark hair
short black dress
I’ve missed my station

a pot of water
whistles up a new life
pomegranate tea

ace crematory’s
mini-van rattles off
dad’s last ride



when you go
who will I wake
and tell my dreams



given up
to a shelter
purrs still in my ear

she reads sutras
from a smartphone
her face illumined

cat snuggles
around a coffee mug
I go without



doe nuzzles
a deer made of wires
and lights

snow drifts
on castle ruins
battering ram intact



in the fountain
buddha sits
attended by deer

fast-fwd sex scenes
no need to dwell
long winter nights

tangerine peels
kleenex by my pillow
winter’s progress



bathing her face
in cobalt blue
netflixing in bed

lines were drawn
then wiped away–
walking by the sea

walking at night
living rooms are aquariums
flickering blue light

indecipherable notes
all in my handwriting
a stranger’s gift



a new birdhouse
my real estate empire

waves to cars
his cardboard sign
scrawled with haiku



alongside traffic
a deer limps
against the lights

above a hospital
white doves rush
into nightfall

deprived of coffee
out of doughnuts
zombies attack



quiet enough
to hear a loquat
kiss the ground

god walks in eden
inspects his prize roses
cusses out the deer



what about pigeons
where’s can they poop
when the statues leave

all around my block
garage sales selling
things I once owned

her chalk white hair
clings to vacuum rollers
a keepsake

along a folding screen
strokes of sumi ink
distant crows



within my brain
weathered road signs
fallen in tall grass

dolls in the attic
will they recognize
our grown-up girls

sweeping up
after the deer
price of haiku



oaks decorated
with circular wounds
their purple hearts

every 6 AM
the beat of joggers
destroying their knees



even when signs say
no hay entrada
poppies sneak across

it doesn’t snow here
the moon pities us
shades everything white