Thursday, May 28, 2009

Tanka & Haiku strings

she longs for
the day when the rich
will steal from
themselves to build
a poor man's home

tin can pets . . .
the things madness
can't grasp

is it madness
longing to revisit
at times
the pitch black quiet
of measured breaths?

the smell of
wind, the voice of quiet
. . . long nights

the edge . . .
watching mini guns
what sanity
had forgotten

twilight dusk . . .
a bad dream cradled in
a soldier's arms

the quiet . . .
when night's watered
with napalm
and stars huddle in
underground caves

robert d. wilson