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Haiku in Orange


Seven is one more

Than six weeks before you came

Into the dark night.


Juicy smells burst forth,

Round seed firm, ripe, and ready

To release the fruit.


Six weeks later, now,

Lady moon is full and red

You sweet on my chest.







lace upon her bosom

lace around her neck

lace it billows all around

while she dances on the deck.

the wind comes blowing from the south

and sends the lace up to her mouth

it flaps and slaps against her chin

while she stomps her feet on a roof of tin.

willy nilly swirling wild

the lace is white and milky mild

she pulls it from her bosom, then tears it off her neck

and keeps on dancing willy nilly, naked on the deck.

Hungry Raccoon


Yum, those old apples will fill this belly!!

A Little Nutty


Coconuts, mmmm. They stink, oh they do!

They reek, they smell: distinctive unforgettable strong.

Once you’ve had a taste of coconut you don’t need a label on a jar to tell you what’s inside;

just open it and breathe in that odor that shouts out declares asserts itself,



Do you know coconut?


Now what’s this bottle over here? Open it up.

Hmm, it’s odorless, has no fragrance, no perfume, denuded.

Take a taste of the stuff, eh! bland; but wait the label says coconut oil?

Coconut oil? Really? Ah, it’s been refined . . . .

rendered processed deodorized tasteless; stinks all gone, nutrition gone too, everything that makes it coconut, defines coconut: Gone, Long GONE!

Is it even coconut oil anymore? This pretender. It masquerades, pretends, preens, and glories in its refinement,

it has a long way to go to find the coconut in itself.

It’s forgotten how to shout, an illusion of what it once was, artificial in its beautifully packaged bottle: Refined.


You keep your adulteration, I say, I AM COCONUT!!!

And I stink. I am strong, a tough nut to crack. Pure coconut.

Greasy. Raw. Inside me is an ocean of amniotic fluid, Life giving, Warm, Vital, Nourishing.


What’s In A Name?


A beautiful flower girl wandered through her mother’s gardens.  She wore a pink rose petal dress and delicate shoes made of acorns.  She had hair that was the color of gold.  Her name was Relaqwel.

Sighing, Relaqwel thought of all the suitors who had come to win her hand in marriage.  Castle Tereteety was overflowing with millions of princes.  Even thinking of them made her dizzy.  There were so many that her father, the King, had a long list with their names on it.  His assistants carried the papers everywhere he went, so if he met the princes then he would remove his spectacles and read through the list to find the correct names.  To win Relaqwel, she had declared that they had to guess her name.  So far none had. If her name was guessed, then the prince had to find a hoard of treasure.

That night a long line of princes lined themselves up in the throne room.  The guessing began.  Two hours passed.  Then at exactly ten o’ clock a prince from across the sea said, “Relaqwel”.  The King, who had said no to so many princes, almost said no but stopped just in time.

 “Yes,” he said, “You have guessed rightly!”

The Prince could hardly believe his ears and at once all the other princes were on him shouting and swearing.  “Silence!” roared the King.  Then he turned to his assistants and removed his spectacles and read through the names until he found this Prince’s name.

“Robert, I believe,” he said to the Prince.

“Yes Your Majesty,” Robert replied.

“Now Robert, you must find the . . .”

“No Your Majesty,” interrupted Robert, “The treasure is already mine; it has always belonged to me.”

“I see, well, here is my daughter”.

Relaqwel stepped down from her throne.  Robert gave her a dress made of white rose petals.  The next night a wedding took place.  Then Relaqwel and Robert stepped into a white carriage drawn by white unicorns and drove away in the moonlight.  But as the carriage departed, four shafts of moonlight fell onto it and Relaqwel and Robert turned into fairies with sparkling wings.

The End.


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