Haiku master say
Can’t haiku two sentences
Category: Competition
Competition
In all seriousness, a boozy Anthropologist Tom, flanked by a bevy of Australian babes, said “Tomorrow we’re going deep into bush country.” Someone snickered.
Its jalapeno coloured eyes flickers with almost microscopic, heartlessly darwinian ecosystems. It gazes through a thousand generations dead on its jalapeno coloured eye-bubbles, and moistens thin lips with a pink alien tongue.
Fantastic insects drip down glossy broad planed leaves as the mist slithers in from all recognizable direction. The natives erupt silently, leading spears of molecule thin glass and gut the British explorers before they can ejaculate their favorite expletive.
A Stab in the Dark
I’m the master of the run on sentence, the Aryan told his Filipino cellmate. I’m about to begin another one.
Paul Bunyan wept, his grief flooding entire valleys. With his friend’s mighty earth shuddering strokes, Babe the Blue Ox was laid to rest, becoming the formidable range we know as the Rocky Mountains.
The Anarchists smash through the flimsy barbwire and sandbar defenses of the Technoindustrialists with their graffito battle tanks and gun-mounted dirt bikes. A single German issue motorbike with sidecar jumps a ramp mounted on a flatbed truck, its passenger a massive Russian warhead.
God Shadows
We’re living page 330 of Gravity’s Rainbow! exults Schroeder to Lorelei as they caper on the cold stone of a burgeoning dawn. Brockengespenstphänomen, their shadows stroke rivers and its communities, caress the fields of that rolling country.
Carrie screams in a blood drenched bathtub while in the living room Sybil is judge, jury, and the accused. Roommates from hell.
Insta-tagged by the dyspeptic dystopian dictator as a chronic criminal, saboteur extraordinaire Diode Rust took evasive measures, scattering duplicitous barcode skin scraps and eyeballs severed from the morgue. Retina and body scans positively blitzkrieged, Rust slinks under roboradar, one cool cat as always.
Pedal to the Metal
Tim Carob is a crime artist specializing in car jacking who is right at this moment crests a hill to land on both bumpers and turning onto Lollipop Street on a skid of sparks, followed by an ensemble of toots, whoops, and sirens. It is a police pursuit the likes of which has never been seen since the 80s cinema heyday of car chases, with our anti-hero protagonist chuckling up the vertiginous slope of a bascule bridge.
Jimmy Flagrant pulled all the stops and went head first into the spaceTime hewing vortex. He was split into a million million Jimmy Flagrants in a condensation of the soul and trolled the multiverse in a million million stories.
It’s Hard Yakka
Stumbling upon a cloud, trying to get your aim right and pondering the moral implications. Cupids have it tough.
When My Doggie Went to Heaven
Bereft of peace, I couldn’t bear the agony of watching my poor doggie’s last moments of life. I turned away, covering my eyes, as the injection went in.
Seven More
When he told the lovely stranger how much he admired her tongue piercing, she replied, “I’ve got seven more. How many do you want to see?”
Getting Out of Jersey
Things long forgotten are stirring, eager to balance the scales and repay insults men have lost to the years. The undead have come home to Jersey, and not just the ancient Bon Jovi fans.
“Helen” America
Sixteen year-old Helen grinned ear to ear, a twinkle in her voracious green eyes, after watching a weather report that showed a cold front about to sweep across America. Maybe now she would get the Corvette Daddy agreed to buy her “when hell freezes over.”
In the Moment
Reluctantly, Nancy slid her fingers from between Jim’s lips. She needed both hands to undo a stubborn button.
Desire
He decided to take a loan from his life.A little bit of this and a little bit of that
Cheat
He knew being sad was not the only choice.He could always kill himself.