A Collection of Haikus on Burn Out

I’m afraid we’re reaching that point in the semester! Winter break is right around the corner and I’m very ready to welcome it with open arms. Until then, however, enjoy a collection of a few choice haikus that I have written over the past couple of weeks. I generally recover from semester burn out after Thanksgiving as I can just see the light at the end of the tunnel. Finals are oh-so-close but regardless, maybe a few tired adults (or even teens) out there can relate as to my mood in recent days.

Busy Bee

Buzz Buzz Buzz

Do you think bees can burn out?

I’m sick of honey

Assigned Readings

Way too many books

Reading should not be a chore

Thank you, dear college

Sunrise

The sky is orange

It always is this early

I’m tired of orange

Two more years

Senioritis? No.

Junioritis. Just halfway.

Five more minutes please?

I Haven’t a Dime nor a Penny

Burn out. Burn out. Spent.

I am so completely spent.

I haven’t a cent.

If Polaroids Could Talk

No, it wasn’t better then.

It was only different.

Nostalgia,

You are liar

Who insists things were better before.

And I’m tired of listening to you.

You can keep your sepia filters,

Your polaroid’s,

Your cassette tapes,

Your photo albums,

And your yesterdays.

I left them for a reason.

And the reality is,

If I were asked,

“Do you want to go back?”

I would most certainly shake my head.

It’s amazing what flaws you miss

When you apply that tinted brown filter.

To be a child is magical, yes.

But growing up is rarely painless.

QuIrKy PoEmS: CaPiTaLiZe

DoN’t YoU tHinK WrItInG Is NeAt?

ThOuGh It MaY NoT SeEm LIkE SuCh a FeAt,

WHeN I WrItE In AlTeRnAtE CaPs, SeE?

It SoUnDs WeIrD tO BoTh YoU AnD Me!

ThOugH ThErE Is nO VoIcE tO HeAr,

iN BotH oUr HeAdS, It SoUnDs WeIrD!

Evening Poems: Blue Ink, Red Eyes

Washing washing 

All the ink  

Scrubbing scrubbing  

A porcelain sink 

Rinsing rinsing  

Dont stop and think 

Wash away 

All your fears 

Did you hear that? 

Footsteps near. 

Falling, falling, 

Through a crack you peer 

Writing, writing 

Your confession down, 

Jotting everything  

With a frown. 

In words and ink 

You do drown. 

But Looking down 

Blue is red. 

Onto the carpet 

They all bled. 

Spatters on 

The wall and bed.  

All you have done 

The blood that was shed.  

You return to 

Rinsing the sink 

No longer can you tell yourself  

That it is ink. 

Be-omist

Dont lose yourself 

In the cloud or silver lines  

You just gotta feel  

your feelings sometimes  

Glass half empty  

Or glass half full 

Till you’re dizzy  

From the roller coasters and pull

You don’t have to live 

In a world of extremes 

Sometimes you dont gotta  

Be happy or sad 

You gotta just be.  

Hopeless, Helpless Romantic

I romanticize love 

Walks 

Stars 

And letters 

Coffee 

Tea  

Wheat  

And feathers 

Hurricanes  

Rain  

Thunder 

The weather 

If only I would romanticize  

Taking care of myself 

And feeling better.  

Night Drive

He eats gravel 

Chews on stone  

Crunching crunching  

On rock harder than bone  

He swallows big mouthfuls 

Out on the street 

If you’re out driving  

Then you might just meet  

You’ll be going along  

And feel a loud bump 

Followed by your back tire 

Complaining with a thump 

You’ll ask yourself  

What could make such a hole? 

Torn up pavement 

Such a sight to behold. 

Your annoyance is apparent 

A foul mood you foster  

For many a times you have met 

The pothole monster 

Trampled Truth

Truth is a battered woman,
Trampled beneath people’s feet.
After all, you can pick her flavor?
Savory, salty, or sweet?

Nothing is ever absolute
Except for that statement.
Fear of responsibility is the root,
Of this disease that has spread

That will murder your morality
And choke truth dead.
Because if there is a right,
It would cause a conundrum,
That we avoid with all our might.
But I’m afraid the world sings this song
That if there is a right,
There must be a wrong.

So if you are on the way
And you happen upon truth
Wrap her up and hold close
Feed her at your table
And she’ll show you what you treasure most

Archeologist

Digging through dirt and dust

Bones and broken pottery,

Shards and rust.

I seek truth and secrets true

A discipline kept

By very few.

In my work,

I search for one thing

Between the cracks of walls it lurks

As I work, it becomes clear,

That on sentence,

“Someone was here.”

????

Did you know I once heard
In a poetry class
That a sign of a weak poem
Is when the writer asks?
Did you know that I heard
The teacher say
That a question has no place
In a poet’s wordplay?
So then I asked myself
Can you do this task?
Where the narrator does nothing
But question and ask?
Maybe I could end every line
With that lovely little mark?
What’s wrong with this symbol?
Am I correct in saying its not dirty or dark?
Dont you think that we owe
It a little respect?
A symbol of curiosity
Lovely Punctuation and not a defect?