Micropoetry, Haiku, Senryu, Tanka

Tweets 19.01.11

a sun dappled doe
leaps from the undergrowth
and snatches his heart

bankers’ bonuses of billions
as if their middle fingers
were not long enough already

truth played a joke
on her lie
and invented twitter

your tears
burn my heart
like pearls of sunlight
falling
on the snow

the braise of the steak
belies
the touch of the chef

By day
truth kept her distance
to lie
she didn’t want him to see her wrinkles
at night
they were inseparable

Lie wanted to marry truth
but truth didn’t want the others to know
that they were courting

the pigeons
crowd the rooftops
in protest
the council still
refuses to pay

her words
should have sliced him
in two
but they were blunt
and he was only bruised

He coughed
checked his handkerchief
and thought the doctor was wrong

The plume and the strut
of the peacock
the priest before his flock

The butcher swings
his hatchet
meat shivers
and silently falls

Time burns
a hole
in his muse

The pack of the snow
a plaster cast
for his car

This massive wave of tweets
my computer’s going down
it’s forgotten how to swim

Truth tried to strike
a deal with death
death raised an eye brow
and asked
just who, exactly, are you?

The old man
catches my eye
across the abyss
of our balconies

The warbling bullfrog
breast bulged serenades
the elusive fly

The mirror of the lake
sends ripples
between them

The swish of parting grass
as she searches
for a reason

The blue sky
as empty
as my stomach

the rain falls straight
as her hair
which she will have to wash, again

watch little words
squeal for joy
while being passed around

She scrabbled for words
they laughed, dancing
just out of reach

the wrinkled bark
of the old tree
spoke of worry

his rusted bike
reminded him
they had things to clear up

The debts rolled in
like waves on the beach
so she decided
on a cruise
to get away from it all

the moonlight
waned
they wondered
what their next kiss
would bring

First, they got God
to explain the stars
but he couldn’t explain
himself
then, they tried science
but that got stuck
on poets

the doctor’s
all seeing eye
overlooked the poet

She dawdled
until the sun
decided to join her

Dark wafts of coffee
compete with the radio
to keep me awake

chocolate brown bed sheets
match
chocolate smeared
lips

my little words
climb onto the balcony
to sun themselves
in your enjoyment

unread words
death duties
on a poet’s life

sleepless time zones
blearily stagger
against each other

the tumble of bedclothes
reminds her
of an earlier warmth

The naked bough
adorned with a black bloom of crows
all dressed up for his funeral

There is no more holiday
there is only twitter

His eyes were levered open
he thought he deserved more
of sleep’s warm blanket

Morning broke
with a calamitous rush
of greys

Tweets 18.01.11

My words
really are intoxicated
with gratitude

he left nothing to chance
was it surprising
that she left him?

Twitter was so slow
he killed
a poem

her bathroom
gleamed beautifully
but was still cold
without him

propriety spent a night with truth
and was amazed
by all the tricks she knew

truth took home
a little white lie
and was beguiled by him
but not enough
for more than one night

Death wanted
to kiss hope goodbye
over my dead body
hope screeched
death smiled

His chest wheezed
like the creaking
of his old bicycle

truth, that giggling fool
has once again
upset their apple cart

the order of things
has been displaced
by the new cleaner

my phone buzzed
with excitement
thinking it could replace
my best friend
but my computer is indispensable

death entered my dreams
and struck a bargain with me
why do I forget my dreams?

the old oak
shudders as it sheds
its precious leaves

my funny little words
whoop and dance
when they meet others

one hot kiss
and her conscience
lost it

winter rumbles in
on a feverish wave
of lingering illness

the sky’s grey jumper
is too threadbare
to keep us warm

the radio died
silence shouted
I jumped

scrubbing furiously
at the bathtub
he expunges
old ghosts

a single sparrow
tentatively alights on the branch
she touches his fingers

the crisp reek of the iron
strengthened her resolve
to leave him

gnarled roots
touched by gentle fingers
elicit startling blooms

the glue
sticking my eyes
to this screen
is an unfathomably strong
corrosive

the sideboard
stiff with indignation
yelled at her
to stop dusting
it tickled too much

mould’s oily bloom
found sustenance
in their relationship

he wielded that feather duster
like a deadly weapon
indeed
in the end
it would be the death of him

the narrow crease
in his trouser leg
brought a hot rush of pride
to her face
she noted with irritation

truth tittered
another lie uncovered
we haven’t found the culprit yet
intoned propriety sternly
but we have our suspicions

lips of mist
kiss the mountainside
with déjà vu

his gambolling words
choose to ignore
the gravity of his poem

the greying break of day
chinks of coffee
slowly seep
into the cracks
in his torpid mind

Tweets 17.01.11

lonely words
curl up in gratitude
for a little company

the washing waits
outside, all bluster
it’s been hanging around again

unread words
hang around street corners
making trouble

he read her poems
at the birth
she had him thrown out

a widget
embedded in his heart
a programmer’s love

the pregnant plane
screams its way home
its expectant load
breathing quietly
mumbling now and then

the hawk butts the sky
with a wing shorn dive
the squeal of the mouse
mute

hope and death
played a game
to see who could kill the most people
death was amazed
to see hope win easily

that’s not hunger
gnawing at his stomach
that’s death

a scurry of squirrels
crowns the lovers’ kiss
with delight

the tree’s last leaf
fell quietly to the ground
she thought
that is the last
of my sorrows

the washing machine
whines on and on
the washing
dizzy from a little spin
wonders whether this is really necessary

he dug deep
into his bag
of shiny baubles
searching desperately
for a diamond

the young cat stretches
until she licks
tomorrow

the train rolls in
grumbling
that it has no-where to go

the tin pan banter
of the radio
reminds me
that I am alone

grey doves
fly unseen
in war’s grey skies

fate tried rigging a deal
with death
but death demurred
and remained faithful
to hope

the bending grass
of management
decisions

once, death left hope
but she pined
so keenly for him
that he had to come back

hope looked in the mirror
turned it upside down
and saw nostalgia

hope gurgled
I never knew about the gloves
death smiled
yeah, black gloves make all the difference
and resumed strangling her

life begins
in pain
and ends
in jogging

tired words
dredged from the rims
of the barrel
smudged with misuse

hope climbed up and up
dizzy with excitement
til death shouted at her
to get straight back down
before she hurt herself

she roared and and she howled
as the sea roars at the rocks
or the wind howls at the trees
but she was still only a baby

the wind squalls
among the boughs
as they squabble
over nothing
but the wind

pain is welcomed
by the old soldier
as a sign of life
but I
never joined the army

howling limbs
rasping breaths
I jog on

morning air
heavy
with sleep

Tweets 16.01.11

he jangled his rts
in his pocket
all the way to the pub
with a smile on his face

Even the crumbs
of our love
are delicious

The fruit
burst in his mouth
he remembered her kiss

He planed and rubbed
the rough wood
dreaming of her kiss

the stubborn rooftops
have been painted red
by the sun’s wounds
as she fell
from the sky

death lurks
in the cracks
in the cobblestones
and is stepped on everyday
no wonder he takes revenge

you battered my thighs
with your lust
and had the audacity
to call it love

the azure hazing
of the sky
hollows her bones
and she realizes
the moon’s loneliness is hers

the sun is pale
and waning
a beaming moon
rolls out to meet her
and help her on her way

burning
was the order
of the day
toast was off
the menu

the banana’s yellowing
curves my hunger
to a darkening husk

fluted leaves whisper
their baleful tunes of solace
to the winter breeze

The grate of the gravel
ground underfoot
punctuated their row

the sea roars at the cliffs
the wind howls at the trees
no wonder I’ve got a headache

bedraggled words
hobble round
waiting for their bedtime

Last night
made a headache
of this morning

Tweets 15.01.11

that massive, granite stone
weighed nothing
against his bloated belly #micropoetry

the waft of fish and potatoes
cooking on the stove
draws me away
from my words

the dry leaf of your love
twisted in the wind
out of my reach

the flowers of desire
are quickly crushed
in the rush of avarice

paradise is often home
to those blind
to her beauty

I lifted her up and up
it was inevitable
that she would fall

at work
I cajole words
to change their attire
they purse their lips
with ingratitude

my words
frolic gaily
in new pastures

a world hewed
of rock, iron and wood
has become plastic

that wedding band
it had always been
too tight

autumn leaves
as crisp as the frost
that killed them
pave my way
home

We’re having a baby
she smiled
death cocked an ear
and licked his lips

the dishwasher needs emptying
she said, he said
no, the dishwasher needs love

a cigarette
coaxed an old man
out onto the balcony
and greeted him
with a cough and some rain

cleaning the kitchen
metamorphosed
into an immovable mountain

she had everything
under control
he thought
until the first reminders
came rolling in

the early morning bustle
and clucking cutlery
confuses him

the telephone trills
like a dawn bird
and it’s still too early

Tweets 14.01.11

death yawns
a sparrow flutters by
unnoticed
death coughs
a president dies

spring bulbs
stretch green fingers
to the sky
ever hopeful
of the sun’s caress

cloud burst
coat drenched
hot bath

Officially, life
ends where it begins
in the registry office

Bankers
I patiently wait for the crumbs from their table
but they are much too neurotic to leave their crumbs

Mousetrap
the mouse quibbled
with the cheese

the pallbearer stumbles / but death / doesn’t mind

The pall bearer / stumbles / but the dead man / is okay / with that

her kiss
hot and lingering
ruined his hairstyle

his kiss
dry and caustic
ruined her day

wine clouds
perception brightens
temperament stumbles
over a hiccup

weary words
smile
thank you

The City
a grimy hand
pushed away
with downcast eyes

petals are strewn
where divorce
is born

the dishwasher grumbles
it has eaten
too much

time roars
in his ear
the bus pulls away

drizzle greys
swaying boughs
whets my paper

hovering
hovering
a jealous buzzard
waiting for my words
to come home

my mouth
cracks open
the dawn floods in

Tweets 13.01.11

work, ever ruthless
beckons
poems play

dull fingers
trip over clumsy keys
as agile words
prance around
laughing

Retweet
words tumble faster
at the thought
of a new admirer

the cup cracked
at the sound
of her lipstick

grey skies
swallowed the sun
and spat it out
as rain

death visited
my dreams last night
but I just snored on

a radio drones
on and on
many others
follow suit

shared words
dance loudly
in gratitude

fingertips burnt
on a charcoaled keyboard
one hot word

wind brushed trees
bow obsequiously
but refuse to be rushed

Tweeting
pixelated parchments
avidly hide
our addiction

boredom unfurls
dust laden wings
I yawn, uninterested

coffee caressed
sleep thickened eyes
creak open

Tweets 12.01.11

Fish Ragout
yellow and red peppers
fat with tiny, spiteful eyes
ignite the pale vanity
of the flaccid fish

Cup of Tea
tea touched milk
blooms muddied water
flowers taste buds

O/S
snow froze over
and windows
with it

Death’s Door
there’s a knock at the door
there’s no-one there
but the stench is unmistakeable

Twitter
watch rejected words
banging on virtual doors
desperate to get in

Bad Manners
doors gawp and gape
talking with their mouths full
now and then
spitting out a body
the epitome of bad manners

Tweets 11.01.11

Entropy
cleaning done
he sits back with a sigh
but the dust carries on

Secrets
words furl
like flowers
hiding from the snow
whispering secrets
to the ground

Running Water
the trickling of the tap
whets her appetite
the stream stills

Tweets 10.01.11

Dad
The first thing I remember is
the curl of blood red bristles
as he blared, peering over me
oh you poor mite
and I? I screamed in fright

Insomnia
the walls have been grumbling again
about the neighbours
and their problems
but why, oh why
to me?

All poems are ©Andrew Rossiter 2011 before Steve starts getting any funny ideas

2 Responses to “micro stuff”

  1. Steve Says:

    Nice Haiku, can’t be your’s – why did you steal it?😉😎


    1. Ahh Steve, as ever your wit is unmatched by we mere mortals, it is truly breathtaking in its audacity, and rapier like in its poignancy, leaving one stunned and speechless…

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