The High IQ Haiku Collection

I’ve been thinking about creating new poetry in 2022. It’s been out of my league for a while now and I am excited to have in my sights again. One style has been my favorite more than any of the others. The Haiku offers a unique challenge, but there’s more to it than that: a great feeling exists when it’s done right, both for the writer and the reader.  Maybe it’s the way it brings nature and humanity together as they should be. Maybe it’s the way it makes the writer pack giant ideas down into a very small containers. And, the reaction when the tiny gift is opened and the reader gets to watch as the surprise opens and unfolds.

Rules?  Only a few.  17 syllables, three lines of 5,7,5, written about nature. mention something about a season, add in an anthropomorphic generalization, and you’ll be close enough to say you did it.  The magic is in how you present your idea.

But, the “Liberal” Haiku is one where anything can be written about in anyway. It’s fun to write and read.  Here’s a quick one.

 

Some Say: I’m a Hiaku Too,

If writing three lines,

Seventeen neat Syllables,

seems easy? Well it ain’t

 

 

 

But honestly, most of the liberal style of Haiku I’ve read doesn’t feel right. They seem to be imposters.  But, if done with enough thought and precision, I’m sure the feel of high poetry could be there.

 

 

 

 

 

Haiku Twenty Twenty-Two

From Page Number One
Haiku: Number: Two Zero Two Two
Thaddeus Maximus
__________________________________________
Whoa! And Wow Wee Wow
We’re all Willing Witnesses
To our Promises
We Are Constructs
Painful wrecks carefully chiseled
From God’s Own Image
Ring Ring Tinnitus
Musical Gift That Keeps Giving
I hear you, clearly
Click, Pop, Magic Knees
You are amazing, thank you
for everything
Patience, I see you
Growing, silently, But True
The things we will do
Gratification
The Great I… Always Me… Me!!
Get A Grip!! Grow Up!!
Elusive Story
My American Novel
I know you’re in there
Instability
Mental Chain Reaction
Chemical Spirit
Our Lives Read Quickly
‘Though Your Character Lives
Your Fable Will Fade
Great Shepard, My Lord
I am your littlest sheep
Please remember me.
________________________________
First Words Written in
the year 2022
Thank you for Reading

A Low-Life at High Tide

 

A Low-Life at High Tide

by Thadd Presley

 

Breakwater Town
Out on the prowl
A million waves crash with one sound
To a short, fat light house

East-End friend
Best of the best of times then
Out on the point
Just more of my kind
That chick was way out of joint
I was a low-life at high tide

The battery at dawn
A quick shot across the bow
Is this soul for sale
or is it a pawn?
For cryin out loud
It’s far too late for that now

Sudden movement of the crowd
Left with no soul of my own
Everything, not lost, is for a sale
For crying out loud
It’s too late to save me now
A low-life from a small town

No fool like an old fool
Super cool dude from the old school
I’ve been like this a long time
Lived my entire life at high tide

Words We Don’t Know

Words We Don’t Know

Words come and go
But the soul knows
There’s much more we could say

Love comes and goes
But our heart knows
There will be better days

Friends come and go
But in the end
We know that real friends stay

Life can often be slow
But, where does time go
Once we learn how to play?

We sometimes sow
Words we don’t know
As our muse dances and sways

Standing toe to toe
With the thing holding our soul
We relive every mistake we made

Our work always grows
Most often we’re shown
That our best effort is only clay

Flying Crabs

Flying Crabs

by Thadd Presley

When my mother took her children to the beach
we had the most fun while flying kites high out of reach.
So high and fast they’d fly, soaring above the water
that when  they came down, it was really no bother

For my oldest brother would put them back in the air again.
It was he who discovered the night-time sandy friends.
At dusk the little crabs would come out  in droves.
We caught a bucket full  and took them home

My mother let us keep some because they were small
but did she know what we were planning? no not at all.
The morning came and we took straight to our kites,
latched onto the string, and then put them in flight

The kite hoisted them high into the sky and with stalky eyes
they viewed the world , as the only crabs to ever fly.
Finally they would gather the courage and drop back to the sea
When my mother caught, she broke our kites, and grounded us for two weeks

The Nights I Write

“The Nights I Write”

by Thadd Presley

Sitting near the window, under the moon, in the light I write
Harvesting thoughts that form from dreams during the nights, I write

It has been a pleasure to write about their lives, an undertaking of soul
As it happens, their fictitious life’s design illuminates the nights I write

Dark characters die too soon only to be born alive again to sin
and hide in the shadows or the dens to survive the nights I write

The village where I create my men and the wives they so love
comes ever so close to disaster within the darkness on the nights I write

The men cry, “Thadd, why dost thou do ill and evil to us men.”
I have learned they deplore their days and despise the nights I write.

Fighting Spirits for Lyrics

Fighting Spirits for Lyrics

I’ve been writing a few lyrics down.
Although, good words have yet to be written,
I’m not getting up, I’m not quittin.
So long as I remain sittin,

I’ll find the perfect letters
and cram them together,
so they’ll be just a little better
than the first time around.

When the words make a familiar sound
forming the beginning of a simple lyric.
I’ll quietly draw nearer to hear it:
the voice of that wandering spirit.

I’ve no reason to fear it.
It’s volunteered every appearance
and engineered an experience so coherent
that I like when visits my piece of ground.

Inked Life

In this style of poetry, I use the same words to create the first and second parts of each stanza. So lines 1 and 2 use the same words as 3 and 4.

Inked Life

Pages grown from vision
Novel becomes inked life
Grown from novel vision
inked life becomes pages

Writing brings character
There is always blood drawn
Blood always brings writing
Character is drawn there

Writers survive the night
Each word is immortal
The night is immortal
Writer’s survive each word

 

 

 




The Fall by Thadd Presley

The Fall

 

by Thadd Presley

He glanced over the edge, not knowing that below
his emptiness was the truth. He’d always been alone.
He looked across the desert trying to imagine his fall.
The beautiful, blue horizon reminded him that love wasn’t all.
Many times over the last year, when love came near
he embraced the future, saying he could face all of his fears
about coming out and letting his family know
tell them who he wanted to love, so he could let his love be shown.
He’s already heard the hurtful words. They all cut deep, to the bone.
How could tear his family apart and destroy his childhood home?
Feelings of loss, betrayal, remorse, and disgust
were made worse by the thoughts of abandonment and distrust.

How? – he asked himself. How could you do this to them?
They love you!! God, you’re nothing but filthy fucking trash.
This selfishness will ruin everything you touch,
and turn your families life into dust and ash.

They all see through you! It’s obvious what you are.
Why would they be surprised to hear it repeated in your voice?
They’ve said it themselves.  “He’s always been a blip on my Gaydar.”
“God didn’t make him a fag, being that way is his own choice.”

His uncle told his dad on his eleventh Christmas. “He’s a damn fancy boy.”
An Ass-tronant, a Butt-Pirate, a Bum-hole Engineer,
A Fudge packer, a stinking cockstar, I bet you’re really embarrassed by him.
A Fairy, a flamer, for a son. You know his momma turned him queer.

He’s a limp wristed, Jobby Jabber, a butt rustling-shit stabber
A girly boy, Nancy Man, fancy-pants, Cock-struction worker
A Browine King, Anus Assassin,and faggot ass dick grabber
Even his Dad called him a shit smelling Goober Jerker.

His mother found out on her own.
There  was nothing to hide. He couldn’t have lied if I tried.
His mother had knew since day one.
But when he admitted it,  she actually looked surprised.

We are through with you, she said, but you know I love you.
I want you to be happy, son, but going against God and nature is not the way
You’re dad doesn’t want you here anymore!
He’s tried for so long, but his heart, you know We can’t make that mistake!

And now you want to turn me away?
You’d really turn me out?
You’ve known this longer than anyone.
I thought I could count on you to help them love me.
But it’s too late. Everything has wilted and gone dreadfully wrong.
I never wanted this sadness to come bacl, but the end has come and gone past.
Love has no end, but how long can hate last?

He glanced over the edge, not knowing that below
his emptiness was the truth. He’d always been alone.
He looked across the desert trying to imagine his fall.
The beautiful, blue horizon reminded him that love wasn’t all.

 

The Guide

The Guide

by Thadd Presley

Perhaps; and I say this in case,
You’ve never been to, seen, or heard of the place
And, if not, just perhaps, you’d still like to go
You can get there still, by following someone who knows.

And who knows the way, and how to get there, please tell?
It’s not the one who only heard of The WAY and says all will be well.
Is there a single path? The only answer is no.
Is there a pleasant route? There’s only one way to know.

You must follow your heart, through the thoughtless crowd
And cover your ears to the loud distractions that abound.
There’ll be people pushing and friends holding you down.
They’ll see in your eyes, if you’ve got a route planned out.

And once they see that you know the way,
They’ll ask you for directions to that wonderful place.
Perhaps, just perhaps, you’ll take the extra time
To not just tell them the distance, but become their to guide.