K9 the pug lets fly,
'Woof.' Arcing care sunshine
Haiku. Few can't arcing count.
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The Haiku Thread
- Thread starter elgecko
- Start date
K9 the pug lets fly,
'Woof.' Arcing care sunshine
Haiku. Few can't arcing count.
August is leaving.
Cooler months now lie ahead.
I’m not much for heat.
Cooler months now lie ahead.
I’m not much for heat.
September is here.
Cool, man, cool, and cool weather.
Fall, no better time.
Cool, man, cool, and cool weather.
Fall, no better time.
There is talk of flood
all the rivers run riot
- bubbles in the bath
On another thread, a G&L 1000 owner asked us to talk him out of buying an unneeded P bass. I offered the following:
Without a P bass
Try to live with G&L
Can’t run from P GAS
G&L? P bass?
Lusting for what we don’t have
Sounds the same in mix
Without a P bass
Try to live with G&L
Can’t run from P GAS
G&L? P bass?
Lusting for what we don’t have
Sounds the same in mix
A Father's Day breeze
and an ill wind unwelcome
slip under the same door
It's so sad. Too true. And not uncommon. Then there's the poetry
It's not always beer and skittles. Forgive me. When I was a kid, I was riding my bike up and down a dead end street near home. Having fun. But each time I passed one particular storm-water grate I heard something emanating from the gutter.I got off the bike and peered into the drain pit. There was a beautiful, tiny little kitten in the mouth of the pipe. She'd been abandoned and she was emaciated, plaintive and forlorn. I heaved open the grate — not easy for a seven year old to do — and I climbed down. Our kitten, in total fear, backed further and further into the pipe as I crawled in after her.
Because it was only a foot-and-a-half in diameter, my presence in the pipe blocked most of the available light, once I got a few yards in. All I could see were her bright eyes in the darkness. She continued to meow, in that frail, mournful, very expressive voice. I called to her softly, holding one hand out in friendship but she was frozen with fear, not wanting to respond.
I crawled up that pipe until I was twenty yards in. Each time I got close to her, she backed further up the pipe. This wasn't working so I stopped. I talked to her gently for ten minutes and she talked back to me, still frozen. Eventually she got the message and came to say hello. We left that place, the best of friends, and went home. I wasn't allowed to keep her but I soon found her a home with a little boy, a few houses along. He was overjoyed to have her and I'd be able to visit, so I was happy.
A day or so later, I got around to the first visit. The boy's mother opened the door. She gently broke it to me that the kitten was no more. She'd been skittled the day before, by a car, in my street, not a busy street, not a dead end. Half a century on, I still carry that kitten in my thoughts, in my arms, and I remember, as if it were only yesterday.
I guess, if you want to understand the poem, this sad story may help. For me, she represents all lost and lonely kittens. As I know her, I know them all. I gave her a name, the boy gave her another one — I've forgotten them both. Let's just call her the everykitten. I recently rescued a leafy seadragon, similarly indisposed. I'd better not tell you about her. We do our best, come hell or high water. I'll put it in a wee pome, one day.
His lucky farthing,
tossed for a broken captain
who always calls heads
Doc says lower salt
Cooking is not my forte
Cardboard for dinner
Cooking is not my forte
Cardboard for dinner
