It’s been a busy old few days recently – more about that soon. Meanwhile, I’ve returned to find my mail box glutted with some wonderful examples of fu-haiku.
Back and remember some sinister act upon the part nothing
more was done at this time. Throughout soon! Amen! Said
belle solemnly. The daily friction fuming. And on the right,
this gentleman all encased i was imbued with the idea that
it would be exciting he paused before adding, your doing
? And as a as yet of having less aptitude for his new career
sad and suffering as he was, she should never.
I defy you to say that doesn’t bring a tear to your eye – the depth, the meaning, the counterpoint of nuance, and some wankerish link to a Chinese domain name – yeah, right, as if I’m clicking there… especially when there’s another fu-haiku…
Your hair. I assure you that it has not detracted tribes
mentioned at teatime. Now, anne, though as a loaf of bread
and composed of compressed wrong to be poor, anyhow. Let
us give in to that which, in the arc of a circle between
northeast i did not pay those items you put down as debts
red stones: rubies and carbuncles and garnets, herself bodily
into all the family’s interests.
Could this be better? I think not. I love the Edgar Allan Poe reference in the stunning line, ‘Your hair.’ And the ‘anne’ in lowercase – what is the meaning of lowercase – is it an indication of a child, or simply, ‘Anne, your body and your family’s interests are nothing more than carbuncles to me.’
Normal service will be resumed shortly.
Stunned in their voiceless way to be alive
That neither the motionless farm couple trudging
But when, on the timepieces that we call
And he is swathed in ever-petrified dread;
Down the long course of the gray slush of things
whose soft bristles graze the top-racks.
To listen, by the sputtering, smoking fire,
The paths of childhood.
Of Boyg of Normandy . . .
they sit with their wives all day in the sun,
Between the vertex that the far-lit gray
Lucky the bell—still full and deep of throat,
Where lamps are lit: these, too,
Against this sky no longer of our world.
Dismal, endless plain—
Is the moon to grow
Blurring the terrain,
XV. The International Circumpolar Stations: The Greely Expedition
My keyhole blows a gale
[recent spam harvest reinvented as random poetry]
That, and the panic in her voice. He had remained true enough to himself
for art to imitate life however feebly – to the very end of Miserys
They knew who she was, all right.
More fu-haiku. What is fu-haiku?
It’s the haiku people send you because they care about your hair, chemical imbalances, sex life, financial situation, or because they’re royalty/famous/the child of a diplomat/the child of all of the above … and what they’re really trying to say is: fu. But accidentally they manage to capture poetic thoughts and subtle meanings from the milieu that is the web. It’s like random, except less well organised. I think the words originally sprung from the typewriters of an infinite number of monkeys.
At least, that’s how I like to think of it.
Today, my good friend Oran (not a real name, a real friend, or real good) who lives, I suspect in either Nigeria, Pakistan, or one of the other previously Soviet ‘stans, sent me, humble little me, some original
spam oops, an original haiku, styled strikingly after James Joyce. What do you think?
behind the closed doors of our quarters did we let go. I nodded
Not at all. They know about the males-and just dont care. We have a
launch from the good old Remorseless. It landed with a shuddering
Thank you, Oram. Obsessively, I googled the phrase ‘launch from the good old Remorseless’ and found second on the list was www.irishparliamenttrust.com. Synchronicity or what? To be sure, it’s a sign from James himself. All I have to do now is work out how to write a sentence that ends in the word ‘the’.
Jasusmaryandjoseph I just did!