©2006 by Jennifer Honeycutt. May not be reproduced without permission.

some haikus i wrote recently:

wind — loud and certain,
like mother nature’s booming
voice, reprimanding.

“you’re naughty children,”
the wind howls with abandon,
unleashing its wrath.

while this fierce wind blows,
i should eat some chocolate
and lick my fingers.

i’d like to dunk you
in water, over your head,
to see your bubbles.

would you sink or swim
if i pushed you in — are you
a witch or dead man?

water slips and slides
between mossy rocks and mud,
finding its way home.

orange and red flames
dance around in a circle,
eating oxygen.

oxygen and fire —
two tangled webs that meet and
multiply with ease.

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