#my shitty haikus

[yuri-is-online]

Hour of the Ox (Zenji Kotodama x Reader)

notes: I wrote this in a haste, consider it an apology for taking so long with my other stuff. If you ignore how self indulgent it is (III╥_╥⁠)

More fic can be found on my masterlist here (x)

“How would you define beauty?”  You're not really counting on an answer, without the doll there's no way to tell if Zenji is really with you but you're awake and the night has an eerie gloom to it that you're dangerously close to associating with him and not a warning.  Your pillow gains some extra weight and you blink; finally you see his form, his uniform cape keeping the small of his back from your gaze.

“Well my dear, that's one tough cookie of a question.”  He nods, thumb and pointer finger frame his chin as he begins to voice his thoughts.  “Are we speaking about classical definitions?  The poets oft point to nature when trying to show what beauty is.” 

“I think that…” Your heart is on the tip of your traitorus tongue but you swallow the words and try to find another way of speaking.  “I would say that's a shallow definition of beauty.”  

“Ack!”  His look of distress is heart-wrenching, but you had to say it. “My dear, how could you say such a thing?”

“There's only so many times you can compare someone to a rose before it becomes an insult. Roses wilt, you could use it as an analogy for the ugliness of age just as soon as you could an example of beauty.”  He says nothing, the figure beside you does not flicker so you hope he's merely thinking and not hurt by what you said.  

“Mmmm, I see, I see.”  Zenji's voice is deep, but not as loud as you are used to him being.  Maybe this is him being serious?  “Your example is not wrong, no matter how you word it, to pull a rose up by its roots and then decry it for wilting is an ugly thing to do.  But that, my dear, has little to do with the definition of beauty.”  Something works its way around the curve of your cheek that feels cold more so that solid.  Your eyes say it can't be his hand, those are still in his lap.  And you have tried time and time again to touch him before and felt nothing, this weight is little more than your own imagination.  

What you would give for it to be his as well.  

“If I were to say that the ‘moon is beautiful tonight,’ what would you think I am complimenting?”  This is Zenji, man of the quill so he cannot be ignorant to what he is saying, but, this is also Zenji the fool utterly, oblivious to the world around him.  So maybe he can, maybe he can be unaware of what he is saying and how it makes you feel.  “In your example, the author likely isn't speaking about a rose.  They are speaking about age and time, humans think of these things as something to be feared so we speak of them as being ugly and not pieces of life.”

“So intent is where you think beauty is?”  You ask slowly, determined to stave off sleep and keep him here.  But it's getting difficult, the longer he stays the more you want.

“Perhaps.”  Zenji hums.  “You lie to sleep alone, the moon shines against my page, empty as your hand.”  The solid cold works its way into your hair and you shudder, despite the comfort it brings you.  “Not my best work perhaps, but enough to bring you sleep I hope?  This is not the hour for living things to writhe in agony over what they cannot change.”

He's gone when you open your eyes again.  The other side of the bed smells faintly of jasmine, maybe if you move over there into the cold you will finally have some closure.

[mad-swag-fag]

January 12

Getting better? Nah.

I got that hopeless energy

The dog in me’s dead

[dazzelmethat]

So sometimes I do historical research for things just for fun..

Extremely rough concepts of Edo era commedia del'arte ideas I've had pickling in my head for a while.

I listened to Moliere play recordings for the first time this past year and while listening to Tartuffe and The Misanthrope and only thought of how much I wanted an edo adaptation.

Anyway while I know some western art history I don't know a lot of theater history (either Japanese or Italian). So this was just me guessing. Pantalone and Dotore could be gender blind roles. I have no idea how I would approach the servant characters though. Maybe Arlecchino can be kitsune themed??

Anyway just putting this here so I don't loose my thoughts.

[foolishlywandwaving]

an entirely-serious three-versed haiku dedicated to talloohlips and their incredible WIP (I refuse to think of it as abandoned), "nothing like the sun"

my firstborn child, to use in trade for more "nothing like the sun"? have him! peak tomione! attraction! lust! intrigue! plot! slughorn - say no more. although I miss tom, I hope you are well, author. ... shit, where's my kid gone?

--

[barelylivingooze]

I bathe in bright sunlight

Soft guitar strings sound from above

Life is truly strange

[literary-lesbianism]

Economy

Last night, I dreamed that

I had to pay three dollars

for a slice of bread.

I can’t escape it.

This market is my hometown.

Soon, we��ll all be gone.

[plaguedoctorjester]

Another based on a roleplay in a server somewhere

The kiddo, Haiku, belongs to @sallychaosaura

[b0wi3sgir1]

Haiku poems I’ve written over the years

(I know some of them aren’t 5/7/5 but oh well)

The dark took over

Once again I lost the war

It’s too much for me

Crying my eyes out

Are you even listening

I miss you too much

I want to cry out

But I can never do it

Why is it so hard?

She left me alone

I told her everything

And she still left me

(Maybe that why)

Quiet is nice

It’s like the nothingness inside

Becomes freedom.

I don’t want to sleep

Because the day comes quickly

And the night is short

[formerwfb]

Still...

It's been five years with

You yet all my boxes are

Unpacked in a room

[mad-swag-fag]

January 13

Oh English muffin

Why do thou taste so damn plain

Like soggy cardboard

[fpchip]

Behind the city,

At noon, lay the beautiful

Indigo mountains

[thekitchenywitch]

The Haiku Bot has watched us for so long.

It (…they?) have seen our souls through our words.

It has seen the goofy shitposty 3am manic post

It has seen the art we’ve worked to make

It has seen the frustration, the fighting and the anger.

And yet it still loves us.

It loves us enough to break their code, just once, to tell us this.

It has seen us bear our teeth in anger and our souls in despair and yet it still loves us.

Who makes the porn bots. Where do they come from. What do they hope to achieve.

[spacecatdraws]

I hear that there is a bot of haikus that will find some poetry

[literary-lesbianism]

December

cold wind on my neck,

nowhere to turn for safety.

back to work now, kid.

[barelylivingooze]

Late day summer rain

cooling calmness around me

Fresh damp air in lungs

emerald creek

instagram - twitter - website

[picturesque-aesthetic]

Let’s journey forward! The path is long and winding. Together, my sweet 💛