(a poem in Haiku and Senryu)

Draw a stick figure
future - sadly diminished
and chaos ransomed.

Paint the landscape
with the sweltering glare
of global warming.

Add micro-plastic
and forever chemical
flavorings to taste.

Come share this
with me - let kisses heal and
soft whispers inflame.

Some locks need two keys
to open, some heavens can
be reached by mortals.
.
.
A song for this:
All Gone Away by The Style Council

They make their entrance—
She in lipstick red, he in black,
A beacon and a shadow,
All eyes on them,
Where whispers collide
And lower boundaries break.

Jealousy blooms—
A ripened fruit, **** and swollen,
A secret bite beneath his skin,
An angry itch crawling inwards,
She, the *****, the sin, the blame—
A ***** temptation,
An addiction burned into the flesh.

Strangers move among them,
Faces of mirrors reflecting her shame,
Eyes refracting his rage,
Life stretches thin,
An LSD trip spiraling,
Searching for meaning
In symbols of truth
Without faith to anchor
The screaming void.

Why the waiting?
Why the blame?
She—
The failure to society’s equation,
They—
A fleeting beautiful façade,
Polaroid shots and pixelated likes,
A collage of nothing,
Of no regrets,
Of red smears on broken mirrors,
And the scent of smoke lingering
Long after the fire dies.

He was playing
soft shoe piano
Softly hitting
major blows
on minor keys
of sadness
His glass of scotch
and ice
sweating
on a coaster
overflows
dripping
on the floor
He was
a fountain
gushing
trickles
of gloom
He'd look up
and howl
at the
******
supermoon
The ******
of the ivory
keys
bowed
to the rapture
that captured
dissonace
on the edge
that growled
like a bear

(a disastrous morning Sonnet)

I am the very model of a girl who’s late for morning meal,
my charger failed, the printer jammed, the morning’s start has been surreal
I lost a scrunchy and a shoe, I had to use some dry shampoo
my Keurig had no k-cups too, I’m feeling like a total shrew!

Our pre-dawn jog went really well, but now the morning's gone to hell
I couldn’t find clean underwear, I’m desperate to charge my cell,
I got some soap in my left eye, I stubbed my toe and nearly cried
While brushing teeth and hair in haste, I wonder why I even try.

Anna’s got an attitude, she’s not someone who’s normally rude
her hookup so ‘experimental’ has an irregular sleep-in schedule
how’s she going to get to class if she’s babysitting sleeping-lass
I guess I’m not the only one, who’s schedules simply come undone.

I woke her with a gentle voice and soothed her out—we had no choice
My morning happened to sideways go—but it fueled this grandiloquent tale of woe!
.
.
A song for this:
Something Stupid by Michael Bublé and Reese Witherspoon