ㅁ The coffee grounds were floating there, with halos made from added cream. But how'd it happen? Wasn't fair. The coffee grounds were floating there, As problems go, not like a bear. But in the moment, crashed my scheme. The coffee grounds were floating there, with halos made from added cream.
– a triolet.
ㅁ The aliens came to regret it: saving humanity, they feared, had been a terrible thing. The primates could not feel any gratitude, though exceptions did arise. Enough? No.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Bleached, the trees in the sun shone like bright white glistening brushstrokes in a field of gray-green and the background of the sea blue-gray with little pale highlights animated the painterly frame.
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ The aliens faced grave challenges. The dominant inhabitants had very limited skills in logic and reason. So ultimately, the aliens ended up telling lies.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Using antimatter and incense, the aliens crafted portals to come to our absurd world. They snuck in, stealthily. Deploying rainbows, they altered things, creating global peace.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ One sign of the Alaskan springtime: I met a slug on the driveway. It bore a westward heading, tasting freshly green grass, disregarding me. Salmonberry shrubberies budded, bloomed.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The weekend was a dull, aimless blur. I felt like I deserved a rest. But then I felt so guilty. Not guilty enough, though. I read a few blogs. No cooking done. Did laundry. Walked some. Dreamed.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The sun is there but I don't see it. The nurturing clouds protect us - each from the other's anger. If it's given a chance, the sun's wrath will hang you out to dry. Don't fall for solar tricks.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ It's revealed that the mind's departing. Cobwebs of perception remain. Cliches circulate, slowly. Anxieties rise up. Reactions kick in. All's uncertain. And joy fades. No fun. Fog...
– a nonnet.
ㅁ errors proliferate in the world's strange fabric scientists assume there are rules maybe
– a cinquain.
ㅁ Clouds, drifting, make mistakes. They scud along, head for the mountain, committed to the bit, and then suddenly are torn, shredded on waiting, upright trees. They dissolve into a fractal mist.
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ On the other hand, there are the trees. They have a professional style. Organized, systematic, they take on gravity, eke out victories, and confronting earth and sky, persist, grow.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ People think animals are experts in their many activities, but I don't think that that's true. They are rank amateurs! Constantly doubting what will happen, thinking what to do next.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Nothing ever goes as you expect. You create complex ideas, evolve preconceived notions, but that planning ahead fails to account for contingencies the real world throws at us.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The rain had changed to snow at last; it scudded down in swinging gales. Large, clumpy flakes plunged down so fast. The rain had changed to snow at last; but shifted back, the winter's past. The ground's too warm, so nothing pales. The rain had changed to snow at last; it scudded down in swinging gales.
– a triolet.
ㅁ The dream told me I was in Saint Paul, down along Snelling Avenue, but the buildings were all wrong - odd gothic fantasies: U of Chicago run through AI, distorted in weird shapes.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ civilization, founded on trust, is overtaken from within; cynical barbarism, distrusting all the words, hollows out the world, until at last what remain are our fears.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ i have left this world a place between real, not-real orbis tertius
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ Language is utterly contingent. Meanings will coalesce sometimes, only to evaporate. Strings of sounds will remain, contours in the air. This bland babble entertains, flowers, fails.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Kiamon sighed. Things becoming quite dire. People were angry, the world was on fire. Still, she at least had the comfort of ghosts. Calm and assured, with their confident boasts.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter. Part of a never-ending series of randomized snippets from the life of a fictional being in a fictional world (which is to say, my novel-in-progress that refuses to actually ever progress).
ㅁ Those hypnagogic moments when the brain zaps flourish: not quite "zen"... I jolt awake, as if the gods had poked at me with cattle prods.
– a quatrain in iambic tetrameter.
ㅁ I have many tasks, but I'd rather do nothing. So: procrastinate.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ Dogs and dogs live their lives along the road visiting and smelling the scenery.
– a tetractys.
ㅁ The sun is shining. The air is still quite cold, though. I prefer the rain.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ If I weren't bound here by commitments and duty, I'd re-emmigrate.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ some birds swirled nearby tracing out their social plans feeling spring's approach
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ the fool ruled the world with a fist of jelly no one could resist such mildness they lost
– a cinquain.
ㅁ Inspiration lags; the world is overwhelming. So I read a book.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ Other aimless ghosts declaim on the streetcorners regarding the end.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ Oblivious days followed by long, dreamless nights, the ghosts have nothing.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ Lines spread out, overtake, rhizomatic, a diffusive planetary conquest.
– a tetractys.
ㅁ Sunny days are when the air itself reeks of guilt, pale obligations.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ Some fog on the trees, sweeping shapes with purple light, a predawn sky broods.
– a pseudo-haiku.
