Is This What They Call Haiku

The philosophical meanderings of an aging redneck poet.

Is This What They Call Haiku

If the whiskey doesn't kill me
and my git-tar stays in tune
I can make it through
another wasted night.
---
To anyone but the curious
posing a question
is sometimes more difficult
than trying to find an answer.
---
A poor boys dream
is to be rich
get chicks
and drive fast cars.
---
The good old days
like living in a dream
are merely selective memories
spoken fondly of in the present.
---
Somewhere in transition
there's a free and easy child
with an untamed spirit
running naked to the bone.
---
Though lost to carnal greed
and sugar coated orgasms
they might be ingenues
in a kinder gentler time.
---
As darkness falls
an empty silence gives way
to the haunting cries
of endless sorrow.
---
A newborn infant child
a nobody yet
but soon in touch with dreams
and bound to run.
---
Where would sunshine be
without the weight
of coming darkness
resting on its shoulders.
---
In the seasons
of my time
I have known despair
and a tortured soul or two.
---
I've had many lovin' sweeties
and trophies on my arm
but yet it seems
none would be for long.



Poetry by David L Wright

The Joys of Living

The Joys of Living

It's the calm you feel at sunrise
emerging from your sleep
as a gentle rush of passing wind
wrestles with the leaves.

It's a good dog in the morning
steady by your side
while jogging down a country road
before the sun is high.

It's scrambled eggs and whiskey
butter beans and ham
meals prepared with fondness
for a very special friend.

It's salty beads of honest sweat
that glisten on your skin
while digging in the loamy earth
to plant a row of corn.

It's standing in the pouring rain
that falls on fields of hay
napping in the shady grove
on lazy summer days.

It's quiet times before the dawn
laying in the dark
grateful for the gift of life
and knowing who to thank.

When silence is the loudest noise...and every man's a king
it's the peaceful easy feeling..that living free can bring.



Poetry by David L Wright

Bad Days on the Planet by David L. Wright

Bad Days on the Planet

If it weren't for idle gossip
there'd be no tongues

to wag
and if there weren't misfortunes
no comics with their gags.

There'd be no country singers

fading

like their jeans

to pen laments of fallen souls
and unrequited dreams.

An' if it weren't for fireflies
and lightning

in the rain
how'd those darlin' boys get home
with whiskey in their veins.

Perhaps in days to come
when culture's

run amok
and sticks held fast in muddy bogs
find themselves unstuck

- when telephones fall silent
- when the lowly cockroach

rules
and a wayward Cosmic Cowboy
in search of ancient jewels

stumbles on this barren land
where attitude

was cool
he'll learn that once in paradise
there lived a race of fools.