Poetic Reflections: horror haiku too

a column by Lori R. Lopez


Creating Horror Haiku was so much fun, I decided to take a second sojourn into the art of the concise. For the sake of brevity, I shall keep my intro short and to the point like last time, only this time it will actually not be long! To prove that I truly can be brief, even in prose, I shall simply state: Let the poetry begin!

See? That was brief, you have to admit! I bet you didn’t think I could do it, but I did! It is done, as you can plainly see. Yep. Right there in plain English and black and white. Okay, nothing I write is ever really in plain English. But it is black and white!

Now that I’ve proven my point, I can get on with the matter at hand. Which is to present some rhyme or reason. Perhaps both at the same time. Wouldn’t that be something? Yes, I should try that. I’ll just make a note of it so I don’t forget . . .

There, it’s jotted down. But my desk is far too cluttered with little pieces of paper, so I doubt I will notice the note because it won’t stand out. That is a pretty pickle, isn’t it? I guess I could just give it a whirl before I’ve forgotten to try it, since I haven’t forgotten it yet. Well, that is one way to go. Interesting. Okay then! What was I doing? Oh yes, I’m about to to take another stab at some Horror Haiku. That should be relaxing. Unless, of course, I actually stab myself with the knife! What do you mean what knife? The penknife, obviously. What do you mean it would be safer to use a pen? Hmmmm. Interesting! But don’t some people write with a sword? I seem to remember a saying like that, and if they call it a saying then it must have been said. That makes sense, doesn’t it?

Well, whatever the case might be, I think it is time to put pen to verse so to speak. Or whatever is handy. A knife, sword, or chisel. I’m sure writers have used a chisel. And then there are those who hack, so I assume it’s with an axe or other type of chopping implement. I should probably stop typing this and see what I can dig up to engrave or hammer out my thoughts in some practical way, shape or form. Ah, I’ll need a shovel for that! Well, here I go off to the tool shed!

Wait a minute. What’s happening here? This is getting awfully lengthy for a short pre-ramble sort of thing. What say we skip the formalities and go straight to the main event? Which is? Oh! I think there’s a note around here somewhere . . .

Alas, the note has disappeared in a sea of notes. According to the title, however, I’m going to be writing some Horror Haiku. Part Two? You mean I’ve done this before? I’d better go read what I wrote so I don’t repeat it. I’ll be back in a few. Meanwhile, why don’t you read some poetry?

Horror Haiku Too

A clam got my tongue

It wasn’t the cat, you see —

And it’s back for more!

 

It’s the little things

Like hugging a monster tight

That we remember.

 

When the things go bump,

That’s when the scared get going.

My knees are shaking.

 

Upon a night’s drunk

A foul creature gravely slunk

Biting off a chunk.

 

Is that a hatchet

You have brought to bed, my dear?

I said I’m sorry!

 

Woe is me, a ghost

In a very nasty mood

Is haunting my thoughts.

 

The piano’s cursed

And won’t play a single note —

Just bites my fingers.

 

When facing your fears

You might wish to bring a gun —

Shoot first, ask later.

 

I’ve been dreading this.

I can’t look in the mailbox.

The letters spell doom.

 

Stepping out of life

Can lead to being undead.

Avoid the light. Run!

 

In case you haven’t

Noticed, there is a zombie

Standing behind you.

 

I finally found

The shoe on the other foot.

They make a nice pair.

 

What horror I see

In the mirror of my soul.

A monster looks back.

 

Like glittering gems

Is the nightmare unbroken

By slashes of rain.

 

That does it! I’m through

Giving rides to strangers with

Ski masks and big blades!

 

There once was a loon

Who spit at a hulking goon.

They’ll bury him soon.

 

I just lost my head

When you asked me for a hand . . .

Now you’ve gone too far.

 

The monster’s awake . . .

I’m holding my breath afraid

Of his appetite.

 

The pain in my chest

Just ripped through my flesh and growled!

My heart was hungry.

 

How the dead do walk

And the silent love to talk

In afterlife regret.

 

Where are we going?

You just missed my street, you jerk!

What’s with the duct tape?

 

It is never wise

To follow tracks that are huge.

Leave some things alone.

 

It’s a shame that my

Brain has a mind of its own,

And several voices.

 

Are you all right, sir?

Did I run your head over?

Darn, I’ll try again.

 

I once had a life,

But then you came along and

Devoured it up.

 

I’m perfectly nuts.

You don’t need to fix a thing.

I’d rather fix you.

 

The cows are plotting.

I can hear their evil moos

As I count the sheep.

 

Tread lightly at dusk.

A tiptoe is deafening

To the frightened ear.

 

Oh me oh my oh,

I’m trying to get some sleep!

Let me rest in peace.

 

A face in a jar,

That’s all you’ve become to me.

Sitting on the shelf.

homicidal

Such a lovely night.

The moon is rather full but

I could use a bite.

 

It’s nice to meet you . . .

Perhaps I should tell you why

You’re about to die.

 

I thought that you looked

Familiar — See, I never

Forget a victim.

 

In case you don’t mind,

Can I borrow your cellphone?

You might call for help.

 

If the rope’s too tight

And the blade cuts too deeply,

I’ll enjoy your pain.

 

Where do you live, child?

I’ll take you home, you poor thing.

I won’t bite — at first.

 

As we are born pure,

There is truth in most madness.

The rational lie.

 

You’d better not scream

If you know what’s good for you —

That drives me crazy.

 

I tried to warn you

That if I told you my name

I’d have to kill you.

 

I’m a little odd

You’ll get used to it, I’m sure

Don’t scream, I love you.

 

I have to confess

That I don’t like your mother —

Or rather, I didn’t.

 

Where did the time go?

Finish your cup of poison —

You do talk too much!

 

Who says I’m insane?

What do those doctors know

Since I ate their brains?

the cellar

It stands to reason,

The demons we battle most

Are already here.

 

I tell myself this,

Do not go down that stairway —

The evil will hear.

 

But do I listen?

Why must I ignore the voice

That screams in my ear?

 

I am such a fool

To cross this threshold of pain.

I might not come back.

 

The steps always creak

No matter how stealthily

I try to descend.

 

We all have our foes,

And that root cellar is mine.

Something lurks down there . . .

 

Eating the carrots,

The beets, garlic and onions.

So far just veggies.

 

I hear it at night,

Crunching all the potatoes

With very large teeth

 

And worry aloud,

What if it runs out of roots?

Will it climb the stairs?

 

Might it come for me

In the dark, stomach empty

In search of a snack?

 

If you lived above

That mysterious beastie,

You would tremble too.

 

So down I must go

After many second thoughts

And postponed attempts.

 

You know what I think?

Some people should think again

Before they think twice!

~ Published ~
July 31, 2012

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