The True Meaning of Christmas

This was a haiku I wrote around Christmas time last year.


bursting at the seams:
Christ-child contained, warm belly tight.
searing pain. new world.


-12/27/09

run.

This was a poem I wrote for my rhetoric class; it's a series of haiku that make up a larger story.


feather curl: light as
breath in the corner where
you crouch, tendons tight.

hypnotic dance- the
petticoats unfurl, and a
sudden reflection

in wide eyes almost
could be maniacal. there
comes a twitch- a slight

movement. grandpa joe's
handiwork- a small pile of
sinners' souls. look out.

now comes the noise.
shriek, wail- brings forth neighbors for
miles- bleary eyes blink.

stuff fingers in ears:
run, run. do not stop for the
things you prize. just run.

run.

-2/7/10

Deck

Broken backs flipping and mixing together,
the backs of each the same.
Difference comes in the faces, however,
for each has it's own identity:
it either smiles back
or is too modest,
& simply lets you count its symbols.

-12/11/08

Bread

Looking weathered, though new.
Your surface:
a dull gold.
You remind me of the face of an old woman, remembering:
possibly something from her childhood.
She will tell the story to her grandchildren,
but only after she has pulled her trusty knife through you innards,
softening your slices and the childrens' hearts
with butter,
as she prepares to begin her tale.

-11/5/08