Hot Mess Haiku

tangled pasta thoughts
meatball words call from the sauce
read me first they say

[Haiku On Why I Can't Seem to Write Anything Lately]

Again, obviously I am no poet, but I lust for the genuine efficiency and economy of words that only real poets achieve through their thoughtful and well-crafted verse. My brain feels like "The Mess"--a pasta dish famous in Boston for looking like an accidental and haphazard pile of pastas and eggplant and mysteries that belie its very well-balanced tastiness. If you are daring enough to stick your fork into the ugly pile, whatever comes out is guaranteed to be delicious and decidedly un-ugly. My head is full of ideas that I feel sure would be as tasty as a bite of The Mess if only I could get the nerve to dive into with real gusto and without fear. My literary fork feels timid lately. Maybe it's time for a trip to Comella's for an order of The Mess. If I can tunnel my way through a plate of that, maybe I can tunnel through the writer's block!


ChickenFreak said...

I like the poem.

I say, of course: Ramble! Babble! Type the haphazardness!

Maybe you need an extra topic or an extra blog? I've been dry on the vignettes lately, but babbling away on the Perfume Blog. Maybe you need a daily babble subject, with a lower expectation for yourself?

Anonymous said...

Did you give up and quit?

Too bad. Your posts were entertaining.


Happy Dog said...

Thanks, guys. Life has gotten in the way of creativity...or motivation? I'll bounce back. I've got a whole list of things to complain about! And Chicken Freak...I owe you TONS of reading. Haven't been in blogland much at all, so I'm behind about four vignettes! Will visit soon. Thanks for still visiting, reading, and commenting. And for being the only person in the whole world who kind of likes my sad little poems! Happy New Year.