1960s West Coast Underground Haiku Poets Society

Real people writing 
Real poetry, you know that’s 

Uh, like man, surreal. 

Haiku Health Daily

Kong the Master say 
Me like haiku better than 
Damn flu any day. 

Dandy Exit

That drab 

Coat hanging on 
The clotheshorse 

Has been hanging there 
A long time; one would think 

It’s high time someone 
Put it out 

To pasture, along
With the blasted 

Kitchen sink. 

To A Once Budding Romantic Poet Now Out On A Limb

Do not be crestfallen, 
Bard, a mere leaf trembling 
In a mean autumn wind— 
Brief as your flowering was, 
Surely you bloomed long 
Enough to sense it wasn’t 
Meant to be forever spring.

Pox Magazine Poetry Submission Guidelines

We do not need and thus 
Do not seek work suitable 
For public consumption— 

The last time we checked, 
Poetry was not listed 
As a communicable disease. 

With Back to the Wall

For all its breathtaking beauty, 
Our country has many flaws, 
Some of them deadly— 

The more we speak of them, 
The better we’ll face 
The stark muzzle 

Of deadening reality. 

Laughter Is The Best Medicine

Gagged inside 
A dumb gentle beast 
Lies another like 
Beast inside 
Another like one, 
And so on, myriads 

Not wanting
To break out 
Of the barrier 
Of muteness
That's muzzled them;
Therein lies 

The key to the puzzle 
As to why these silent,
Docile creatures need
Nothing but guffawing
Clownish despots
To entertain them. 

Bus Stop: Spring Is Icumen In

Oh, devilish joy frenetic! 

There where one hum- 
Drum bus comes 
And pulls out one 
After the other, now 

Alighting on a wire above 
An oblivious queue, two birdies 
Making mad whoopee looking 
Like a goddamn double-decker one!

Anamnesis

Coming up for air— 
Lungs foundering 

On the bottom, fishing 
For whatever’s still 

Down there.