A blog in honor of Ernest Hemingway's continual search for the perfect sentence. Now in a new and improved haiku format!
When the old poet
died, the plaudits flowed, but I
knew him, the bastard
Bloviate and prance
while bedlam and affliction
bloom amid hoopla
Once we were wolves
dancing in moonlight til dawn
now curled by the fire
Amid the rocket's
red glare a history soaked
in blood quickly fades
They want a king til
his hangman comes a calling
with a list in hand