Haiku About Chinese New Year Year of The Horse

Haiku About Chinese New Year Year  of The Horse



Horse stomps evil snake
Wretched old year stomped to death
A new year is born

Haiku About Execution of England's King Charles I Whose 365th Anniversary Is Today

Haiku About Execution of England's King Charles I Whose 365th Anniversary Is Today




Charles I King Martyr
Royal Stuart fought Cromwell
Lost head in the end

Haiku About Orson Welles' Citizen Kane

Haiku About Orson Welles' Citizen Kane



Poor Citizen Kane
Charles fosters a vast empire
dies wanting his sled

Haiku About Alfred Hitchcock's Movie Psycho

Haiku About Alfred Hitchcock's Movie Psycho


Anthony Perkins
cleaness next to godliness
take shower then death

Haiku About Justin Bieber

Haiku About Justin Bieber



Pop stars go retro
Justin Bieber is dancing
to the Jailhouse Rock

Haiku About Martin Luther King

Haiku About Martin Luther King Jr.



Martin Luther King
great character his content
a man of great soul

Poem Written By A Castaway of Love

Poem Written By A Castaway of Love


What am I lying on the ground
a sprinkling of blood about me?
I am a castaway of love
A sacrifice for your twisted passions
you cut me aside without a second thought
and cast me away.


Why?  oh why?
Haven't I always been by your side?
Wasn't I always there to listen to your rantings?
Wasn't I the one who heard your cries in the night?


I may not have seen the first woman you slept with
I may not have seen the first picture you painted
but I always knew your passion for art
your zest for beauty
your chasing after all that delights the eye


I may not have seen what you saw
but I heard
I understood your cries
your sobs
and your shouts of joy
Those exclamations you gave to the world
with your paintbrush as your exclamation mark.


Because I heard
I listened
I understood
Because I was always at your side.


But you cut me off
and cast me to the ground
like a piece of meat.

I may not have been a bosom companion
but I was always at your side.


But now I lie here
wounded and bleeding on the ground
cut off by you
cast aside by you
a sacrifice to your twisted passions
a castaway of love.


Will you now paint a picture without me?


Why? Oh Vincent?  Why?




-A poem that might have been written by Vincent Van Gogh's ear if Vincent Van Gogh's ear could have written poetry





-A poem written by Christopher
 Friday January 17th 2014

The Old Dark House

The Old Dark House


The old dark house on top of the hill
the sort that would give Lugosi a thrill
it stands there dark and foreboding to see
right next to a lifeless leafless tree
its thatched roof is gray and fallen to ruin
its garden is weeds so nothing to prune
all hope abandoned by those who entered here
and the gloom it grew with each passing year
now it stands on the hill a cathedral of death
and makes its spectators gasp and struggle for breath
that old dark house is a monument to fear
and that's why no one has entered for many a year.



-A gothic poem written by Christopher
Thursday January 16th
 2014.

The Apocalypse Zombies

The Apocalypse Zombies


(to be sung to the tune of the World War II song The D-Day Dodgers and the World War I song Lili Marlene)



We're the Apocalypse Zombies of modern history
first made popular in horror flicks as corny as can be
We like to eat people's brains out
When we roam about
We walked the Halls of Congress but found nothing there
saved shocked Congressmen in their underwear
So we headed across the country in our walkabout
California was as barren as a bear's stream devoid of trout
we searched for a place we thought would hit the spot
but the state of Colorado had totally gone to pot
We stumbled on the set of a reality TV show
and finding junk food there decided we would go
so we shuffled across this land on our bony feet
with eyes that looked totally deadbeat
We checked Facebook statuses looking for a bite
but all we read were people who ought to fly a kite
And the Twitter tweets were even worse
devoid of verse- a brainless curse
And so we died of hunger
falling like dead junker
because no brains could we find
living man was not kind
It was truly a zombie apocalypse
because no brains would pass our lips
and now we lie buried again under grass
Zombie apocalypse truly come to pass.


-A satirical song written by Christopher
 Wednesday January 15th
  2014.

The Statue of Augustus

The Statue of Augustus


The statue of Augustus washed ashore
a long lost artifact from days of yore
has it floated on the world's oceans this long
past the many tunes and dancing jigs of a mariner's song
under planes of war
and bombs galore
under satellites that track movement on the seas
and over subs far below the ocean breeze
image from an empire long gone
kept alive in a Vegas strip casino
with wine and song
Why hast thou returned to the shores of mortal men
Imperial god on whose death
to Olympus did ascend?
Thou once deemed immortal
who held the keys to a godly portal
now dost lie on ocean sand
far away from palace grand
thou whose word once made men shake
now lie like fallen monument
after earthquake.



-A poem written by Christopher
 Monday January 13th 2014.

Sidney Seagull Private Eye

Sidney Seagull Private Eye


British Columbia's most famous seagull Sidney had opened up a private eye's office on the beach at Vancouver's English Bay.


He sat around drinking a bottle of bourbon and smoking a cigar while he waited for his first client to show up.


He got a lot of peculiar looks from human passers-by as he did so.


His friend Red Herring Gull flew in to see what he was doing.


"Hi Sid,"  Red greeted him,  "what's up?".


"I've decided to go into the private eye business, sweetheart," Sidney answered in a Humphrey Bogart sounding voice.

"And are you coming out of the closet in the process as well?" Red asked, "You just called me sweetheart."


"Of course not, you moron," Sidney choked on his bourbon and cigar, "that's just the way private eyes talk."


"Sidney," a female seagull who sounded a lot like Ingrid Bergman flew into his office.



"Why of all the private eye offices on all the beaches in all the world did she have to fly into this one?" Sidney buried his head in his fedora hat.


"Oh Sidney," the seagull whose name was Ilsa sighed,  "we'll always have Paris."


"Funny you should mention Paris," Sidney belched bourbon, "Miss Hilton was quite pissed off when I crapped all over her dress."


"I'm talking about Paris France, silly," Ilsa batted her false eyelashes at him.


"I got the point right on the top of the Eiffel Tower," Sidney recalled, "most painful enema I've ever had in my life."



"Oh Sidney," Ilsa started to cry and her mascara flowed like rain along the beach, "why are you so angry?".


"Gees, I don't know," Sidney's seagull lips dripped with sarcasm, "maybe it was because I was sitting alone in the rain looking stupid on a statue of Charles de Gaulle holding a note that said 'Dear Rick, I find I have to suddenly leave Paris without you. Love, Ilsa'.   That note pissed me off for two reasons.  Reason #1:  You had forgotten my name because you called me Rick and not Sidney. Reason # 2: You suddenly had to leave Paris without me."


"Oh, Sidney, you've changed," Ilsa sobbed.

"Of course I've changed," Sidney replied, " you think I'd wear the same suit that I wore in Paris?  With all those coffee stains on it as a result of all those clumsy French waiters?".


"You don't understand, Rick," Ilsa had forgotten Sidney's name again,  "that day when we were supposed to leave Paris together... the day when they started selling German sausages at stands along the Champs-Élysées... I received word that my husband did not die in a hockey training camp after all.  He was alive and well and living in Paris. I had to leave Paris with him."


"What? You couldn't have dumped your husband and eloped with a bum like me?" Sidney swallowed his cigar,  "what's good enough for the Kardashians isn't good enough for you?".


"You don't understand, Sidney," Ilsa was crying as much now as a guest would on one of those sisterly blubberfests on the old Oprah Winfrey Show, "my husband is a leader in the Czech resistance movement and he'd fail without my love and support."


"And as leader of the Czech resistance movement," Sidney reached for another bottle of bourbon, "just what is it that he's supposed to be resisting?".


"Well," Ilsa replied, "as leader of the Czech resistance movement, he always resisted losing at Chess."


Just then a blackbird landed on the beach.


The blackbird had a harmonica in his mouth.


"Sam," Ilsa greeted him, "play it Sam."


The blackbird looked at Sidney, "That all right with you, boss?".


Sidney winced as he said, "Play it Sam."

And so Sam the Blackbird played Here We Go Round The Mulberry Bush on his harmonica.


At that moment Jonathan Livingstone Seagull flew overhead.


He had spent New Year's Day down in the state of Colorado where they had just legalized the sale of cannabis.


While Jonathan was busy singing that old John Denver song The Colorado Rocky Mountain High, he failed to notice the giant redwood tree in Stanley Park directly in front of him and flew into it- knocking himself out in the process.



At that moment, a falcon flew into Sidney's office.


The falcon spoke in an unknown language.


"What the Hell are you saying?" Sidney spit out his bourbon.


"I think it's Maltese," Red said, "I watched a documentary on Malta on The History Channel last night."


"You mean they occasionally show other programs on The History Channel besides that stupid American Pickers?"  Sidney spit out his bourbon again.


"Sorry," the Maltese falcon spoke, "I forgot you speak English here."


At that moment a dog whose name was Sam walked by crying, "I've just been spayed. I've just been spayed."



"We'll be seeing you later, Sam spayed," Sidney spoke in his Bogart voice as he had been speaking all afternoon.



The Maltese falcon spoke to Ilsa, "I've been sent here by your husband to put you directly on a flight to Sochi, Russia.  Your husband has been named Captain of the Czech National Hockey Team- the first seagull in history to receive this honour and he'll be playing in the 2014 Winter Olympics."


"But why does she need to fly to Sochi now?" Sidney asked between shots of bourbon, "The Winter Olympics are still another month away."


"Yes but the line-ups for the best borscht soup and beef stroganoff  in town have already started," the Maltese falcon answered, "and your husband wants to be the first in line."


A sea plane landed on the water by the beach at English Bay.


An old-time train conductor (still waiting for his ship to come in) opened   the door of the sea plane and shouted, "Next flight to Sochi, Russia.  All aboard."


"Oh Rick," Ilsa sobbed on Sidney's shoulder, "I don't want to get on that plane.  Tell me what I should do and I'll do it."


"The name's Sidney and it looks like I'll have to do the thinking for both of us.  And in the alcoholic haze I'm in, that's going to take a great deal of talent on my part," Sidney answered, "Look I may not be the most noble guy in the world... in fact I haven't been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize even once.  But I do know this.  The problems of two seagulls don't amount to a a hill of beans in this world.  They amount to a hill of something else. But if you don't get on that plane, you'll regret it.  Maybe not today.  Maybe not tomorrow.  But someday and soon."


"Good-bye Rick," Ilsa kissed him and boarded the plane.

"The name's Sidney," Sidney remarked as the plane flew off into the sunset.


"You know, Sidney," Red broke the silence, "you know how you said you thought you looked stupid sitting alone on a statue of Charles de Gaulle in the rain?".


"Yeah," Sidney nodded sadly.

"Well personally I think anyone would look stupid sitting on a statue of Charles de Gaulle whatever the weather," Red stated.



"You know, Louis," Sidney grinned at him,  "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."


"The name's Red," Red answered, "and if you want me, whistle."


They walked into the water together as Sam the blackbird played on his harmonica the song whose lyrics went, "Does your memory stray to a bright summer day when I laughed and called you sweetheart..."


The unconscious body of Jonathan Livingstone Seagull floated by.


Sidney took off his fedora in a sign of respect and said, "Here's looking at you, kid."



-A Sidney Seagull short story
 written by Christopher
 Friday January 3rd
 2014.