eat your heart out, japanese william shakespeare. unless you have some ramen, in which case you should eat that. ramen is awesome.
24 10 2007With no offense intended to anyone out there who considers themselves a poet and writes lots of little poems about love or betrayal or their cat in a flowery little journal, I don’t consider poetry to be poetry unless it rhymes. No rhymes = creative writing (and not necessarily all that creative).
The only exception I give to that personal rule, and I don’t know why, so don’t ask me to elaborate, is haiku. They’re short and sweet and rigidly structured, not unlike a Lego woman. With that in mind, and because I can’t think of anything else to blog about today, I’m gonna bust out some freestyle non-rhymes. Nod yo’ heads if you feelin’ me.
First, some overly-simplified education. A haiku is a three-line poem with seventeen syllables. The first line has five syllables, the second has seven, and the third has five. They came from Japan, as did the Nintendo Wii, although the two are unrelated. Here’s a quick sample I just made up:
It is not the first i’ve done,
nor is it the best.
I think you get the point. There was obviously no emotion or creativity put into that one, so let’s try something else. Something that speaks about my life.
trying to write funny posts
helps to keep me sane.
Dudes, I friggin’ rock at haiku. Writing posts… well, that’s another story. I know what you’re thinking: “More, Zesty, more more MOAR!” Calm down, little ones, and stand aside. I’m opening the gates to Culturetown, USA.
to the fat chick in his way.
“I can’t see the game.”
“Move it?” she replied.
“You paid for this lapdance, dude.”
“Commercial’s over.”
She got up, hand out,
and demanded thirty bucks.
“Half a dance, fifteen.”
“Thirty bucks, my friend,
or they’ll take it out your ass.”
“Who will?” he asked her.
“Them big-ass bouncers,
the bald motherfuckers with
the big-ass muscles.”
“Oh, those bouncers. Hmm…”
He produced a black wallet
and paid the woman.
He noticed later
he had given her forty
but did not complain.
He’d get home tonight
with nary a blackened eye;
good deal for ten bucks.
Wow. WOW. I’ve always been one of those people who says they don’t know what art is but they know what they like. That, ladies and gentlemen is art. Soak it up.
Last one for the day, or I’m gonna have to start charging you guys. My goodness. This last one is about one of the worst people who has ever lived, so it might be a little dark. I say “might” because I haven’t written it yet and am not sure how it will turn out, but it is coming from a dark place.
pure evil walks among us.
Its name: Tom Brady
An ass-chinned demon,
spat from hell into Boston
to spawn with models.
Swallower of souls,
defiling all that is pure,
taints the NFL.
Powerful stuff. I hope you enjoyed it; maybe we can do it again sometime. In the meantime, leave your comments in haiku form.
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