Pin It

Haiku 

Bashō loses his footing + jack-tumbles
down Breakneck Ridge: twisted ankle,
crooked crown. A smug frog hops
across his forehead + splashes

into a pool of Bashō blood-grease.
The poet’s spit pools as EMTs (who
lead haiku-less lives) wrap his mangled
head + gangly limbs. He’ll recover.

Years later, he shuns the outdoors;
boulders fashion his bête noire.
He passes out pamphlets in Beacon,
another warped elder who still

combats apnea for nightmares of ponds +
cornflowers. He sits on his fire escape,
churns out manifestos. He grumbles
through hokey matinees, a divine bard

come alive with marrow only to be
spurned by a centuries-old beast.
He reminds himself of that bee he saw,
the one staggering from that peony.

Tags: ,

Speaking of Poetry

  • A poem by Maceo J. Whitaker

Comments

Subscribe to this thread:

Add a comment

Readers also liked…

Hudson Valley Events

submit event
Trajal Harrell: The Return of La Argentina @ EMPAC at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute

Trajal Harrell: The Return of La Argentina

Tue., April 25, 5 p.m. — Trajal Harrell mixes postmodern/voguing styles with the Japanese dance/theater form “butoh” to...

View all of today's events

Latest in Poetry

Hudson Valley Tweets