lungs gasp
as fish do
when ripped
from the
dark lake
respirators
are still
These blood letters, these horror haiku’s come from many places. True life, imagination, a chance encounter, a nightmare. They are legion. Everywhere you look these poems are red.
step hard
on the
balls
he paid
extra 4
that touch
remember
no kiss
I like the idea of adding numbers and abbreviations to this format. 17 syllables can pack a punch done right.
put the
camera
high make
sure they
can’t see
it there
bathrooms
can be
tricky
cut the
gums slow
ly pull out
the tongue
with due care
spoiled fruit
is avoidable
the wolf
waits for
her
riding hood
is aware
of him
her knife
needs
to bleed
pull yr eyes
out slowly
dangle them
on yr wet
face
watch gen
itals burn
A throat punch. Poetry as a shocking and vicious sucker punch. Poetry is dangerous.
stick your
fingers
deep his
eyes are
the weak
est spot
he won’t
feel you
cum
‘blood letters’ are the Haiku’s I write set in dark and disturbing outlaw lands. I’m working to distill the poetic form to a shot of Malort (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeppson%27s_Malört) that punches hard.
the dog
gnaws
the bone
the crib
yawns open
as the
grave
the rattle
is silent
kick him
hard he’s
down stomp
on his grasp
ing fingers
my daughter
is five
Implication and association. This haiku immediately revolts. Grasping fingers and a five year old daughter plus the opening action all lead us to the unthinkable. What has this man done? Why such an extreme action? Our minds immediately conjure up tales of abuse and impropriety. Perhaps not the subject matter for ‘refined’ poetry. This ain’t that.
grey rain
falls
as grease
puddling
thick on
the road
skin melts
in the wet
This is one of a number of ‘blood letters’ i have written as part of my continuing process. 17 syllables outlaw poet Todd Moore styled haiku stories. I’ve a number to come.
Outlaw Poetry 