Home of "Haiku Mike"
transcending the metaphysical
not sure how to put this so i will do it there is hole where the dark matter lives in my being who is it what is it no idea when i find out i wont tell a soul
my hand
waves in front of my eyes
to special music
Experimental Haibun that most likely will not be published!
Two Tiny Haibun
the substance of forgotten things
i glance at the light shade. it has tassels on it that remind me of my grandmother.
your fingers can not touch me and yet i move
aurora borealis spillway
the rain has created a channel in my backyard. a small path of fog hovers over the water.
not yet autumn and the northern lights have hidden the stars
Published on a Poet’s Blog!
stoner in the kitchen
In my teens, and with the usual heavy dose of low self-esteem, I find myself in the kitchen of a beautiful blonde girl in my class. I am helping her mother with the dishes. She is German, and her Mom is a strong boned and beautiful woman who can cook up a storm, and does, for all of her daughter’s visiting friends. We are all theater types, practicing our lines and trying out different personas on each other, so good food and a nice open house with a backyard swimming pool is a big plus! Her father is a square head German (I can say that, being one myself), who patrols every interaction any boy has with his daughter. He loves hunting and makes a point of showing off his many guns to all the boys. In the sixties, this is vintage behavior. The alpha Dad making an exclamation point of his dominance over every interloper in his territory. But, I am doing the dishes with Mom, and it feels good helping in the kitchen, and Mom is pleased that I am showing deference to the real head of the house since she controls her sometimes volatile husband with simple but brightly firm looks and facial cues. It works, almost unerringly, and my young mind has obviously picked up on that fact. After the dishes are done, I leave quietly, never really saying goodbye to that blonde I am so taken with in my mind. Why I do this is a mystery to me, even now. I take the long way home, but why I do that I don’t understand until years later.
being emotionally myopic i forget to say i love you
Most likely will never be ‘published’!
brainbell jangler
Any good blues hound knows it. Some song, some chord, some words strung together that just, touch you, in a special way. Nothing you can explain, nothing you would tell another person, no matter how drunk, how stoned, how fucked up you ever got. That special thing you hear in your own head, just won’t, can’t, should never be, shared.
midnight ramblin…
an uncertain mirror
holds an uncertain face
Most likely will never be ‘published’!
defining the sound of normal
what in the hell is a matter with me. i should be working around the house. i have tons to do but i am in the garage smoking a cigar and looking out at the clouds. i am sitting on the rear fender of my vintage 1973 volkswagen super beetle. it is rusted a bit but runs like new with a 2002 brazilian short block i got my hands on. in the sky today there are two levels of clouds. the higher ones are just barely moving and the lower level is going along at fifteen to twenty miles an hours. i can tell that it is going to rain and the wind past the garage has now picked up to match the lower level clouds. as i am about to close the garage door i turn and have an epiphany and it wears a certain smile.
wind chimes
the awkward cadence
of the crippled child
Most likely will never be published!
Non-numerical One
The breeze suddenly stops. My pulse stops for a brief moment also, or so it seems. Nature and human nature are one. The physical and the spiritual are one. And yet, and yet, we are drawn to making distinctions. It is the ‘stress’ of living.
summer meditation
the passing clouds too
have left the sky
Published in Cattails!
Published somewhere, but who knows where???
Michael Rehling 