Crows frozen in snow chose then
To dip their beaks in bleak white, sipping
Remnants of last night's dripping.

I froze in that snow, chose then
To dip my hand in jean black, wishing
While fishing for my phone they would remain
Frozen.

But those crows were not made to be inlaid
In pixels in my device's exhibition,
And in preparation to capture their appearance,
Black against white,
The moment passed without me.

Crows frozen in snow chose then
To dip their beaks in bleak white, sipping
Remnants of last night's dripping.
As I passed I thought the moment mine,
To take and enjoy whenever.
But those crows chose then to teach me this lesson.

Haiku are nice but why limit ourselves?
I don’t listen for rhyme schemes or false themes,
“I’m a rhythm man myself and I hear how the poet conveys himself
Because poetry is the writer’s way to convey and bare his soul.”

But these bear hands have seen too many stings.

I’ve spent my whole life chasing bees.
The only people I’ve seen like me chase bees so why not me?
My head says meat but instead I eat
Honey.

Sweet in the moment, but not lasting.
My taste buds satisfied, but my stomach longing.
I rest my head on my stone, my home and I wonder,
“Am I happy being like the bears on TV?”

But there is no time for thoughts like these.
I need sleep.
I have a full day ahead of me,
Chasing bees.