9 Breaths of Monsoon Season in Ontario by Eli Sokoloff Harris

1.
The sumac bushes bloom
As the shield passes us through
Its granite hands
A heavy whisper is the campfire’s only song

 2.
I know of two men:
A man who knows the future
And a man who chooses not to

 3. 
As a winter lodge carries a serenity 
Inside its polyurethane doors, 
A cabin will ease you into 
The neighbouring dimension
Just quickly enough to wake a sleeping cat burglar
And steal all your precious seconds
From under your snivelling nose

 4. 
I’ve made more mistakes than
Two parents on their 8th week of parenthood
And I have learnt less than they have on their 9th

 5.
A tent will usher you through a forest door
Colouring your cataract eyelids
So you cannot see 
Your children anymore

 6.
The train-tracks rumble softly;
I know a train comes soon
I sip from my can 
And chunks of gravel shake beneath me

 7.
Tefnut smiles down therapeutically 
And opens her hands wide
To shatter the cerulean heavens;
We are grateful for the rain
Her sundogs howl around her waist

 8.
When the autumn breaks
The big organ is always a little off key
Our paddles battle the waves valiantly, and
do we ever rush forward, 
The river’s current no match 
For last night’s treachery.

9.
When elegies for the voice are made,
And not just for the heart, then perhaps
I shall write one about the monsoons
That laugh at your very existence 
And how the candles and the nighttime 
Are always running a race
To see who is extinguished first 

10. 
Even though I love you,
I want you to go:
Please don’t see me just as a vain and ignorant God
I’m only so young, for such a small deity.
And I know that the vegetables don’t always grow
And the canoes don’t sail like they used to
But someday I’ll take you to where they do

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We’re proud to presented our next Pessimistic Haiku featured poet, Eli Sokoloff Harris! Eli Sokoloff Harris is a Jewish singer, songwriter, and poet from Toronto, Ontario. He studies classical music at Wilfrid Laurier University. During the spring and summer seasons, he is an outdoor educator at various Outdoor Education centers and Summer Camps in British Columbia and Ontario. This is his first published work.

Incompatibilities 5, by Jacqueline Smith

We’re proud to present our next pessimistichaiku.com featured poet, the winner of our February Poetry Challenge, Jacqueline Smith (@ravingpoet64)!

Jacqueline Smith lives in London and works as an interviewer. She has previously been published in Ambit, South Bank, Cake Magazine, Inkspill, Spilt Milk and Poetandgeek.

Visit our page or post with #pessimistichaiku for a chance to be featured here.  Many thanks!

Amoeba

The gurgling amoeba spreads, it hungers and it slides, trailing slicks of waste on planes of light.

It swallows and assimilates the runners in its path, there’s no escape, no power left to fight.

We can’t swim out.  We can’t kick through.

It fills our world.  It sticks like glue. 

Who’s to blame for blending in when breaking down is all that we can do?

Our flesh will feed and fuel its binge, as sure as all the fools who bend the knee and marvel at its might.

pessimist

I’ve written you 10,000 words
just to say “I want to talk,”
shooting myself in the foot so
often I can hardly walk.
I’m a dimwit if I tell the truth,
the devil if I lie,
a pessimist to walk away,
a masochist to try.

Wanting to believe in what you
say, I act as if it’s true,
but my gut is seething when I’m
translating the things you do.
I’m a moron if I force a smile,
a monster if I cry,
a pessimist to walk away,
a masochist to try.

Chances may be squandered as I
stare at hypersonic clocks.
I don’t know if they’re spent or if
they’re still alive in your black box.
I’m presuming if I raise the lid,
insipid if I’m shy,
a pessimist to walk away,
a masochist to try.

S.A.D.

Aimless explorer
in a well-lit expanse of plenty and infinite choices, 
stalking the elusive source of health.  
Greasy and sweet, 
vegan and meat, 
insulin, 
casein, 
may be ally or foe.
But, which, we'll never know. 
Science is in thrall and
designs the truth to order, 
bought by interests in conflict, 
one with another, 
all with the world,
commodities to subsidize, 
believing what they must.
They broadcast from all directions
calling out to the
aimless explorer
in a well-lit expanse of plenty and infinite choices, 
miles away from the
musty convenience stores where
shoppers who take what they can get, 
have bigger problems. 

0

I asked of the sorceress
with wild eyes
and strands like pearl necklaces
draped from her head:
What did you see looking through
my disguise, 
and what did you hear between
words that I said?
She laughed and she threatened me
with incantations, 
without inhibition or
terror of sin.  
Today, though I leave her in
incarceration, 
I know, before long, they'll
expel her again. 

Incantation #15

Stay still for a moment, 
let me come to you.
We'll run out of time
if you don't stop to wait. 
Allow me a memory, 
and please make it true.  
Don't make me regret
that I found out too late.

I'm restless and wrecked
when I know where you are, 
but if I can't reach you
there's no point trying
to spring for a ticket
or wear out my car, 
only to stand where you
used to be, crying.

Stay still for a moment
and give me a clue.  
We'll run out of time if
you can't stop to wait.  
Let me believe that I
might trust in you.
I feel heaven's wrath and
I can't trust in fate.

Electrons

Turn around.
Turn around.
Let me see your face.

Tell me if it's real or just
a desperate mind's creation.

I've been sleeping in with my
divine hallucination.

What was once exciting, utile
and so comfortable
now has become commonplace and
lets the pain seep through.  

When the shifting phase disrupts
your orbit once again,
will you drift away just like you used to do? 

Come inside.
Come inside,
to this vacuum space.  

Shades of past and future fly
through us til we awaken. 

Confidence in reason and
my senses has been shaken. 

In the sound and light from moments
spent so long ago, 
I stretch out to find my place and
get my message through. 

When the shifting phase disrupts
my orbit once again,
will I drift away just like I used to do? 

Scrambled words on posters,
feathers on roller coasters,
smiling fools and screaming ghouls
with shallow soulless eyes,
deserts filled with flowers,
deep space flights in hours,
telepathic tête-à-têtes
are somehow no surprise. 

Take my hand.
Take my hand.
Let me leave this place.

Distilling down to you, we'll
split up this amalgamation. 

Get your head in order first.
Don't storm out in frustration.

Let it be cathartic, peaceful
and so comfortable.
If it turns out commonplace, we'll
dream up something new. 

When the shifting phase disrupts
your orbit once again,
will you drift away just like you used to do? 
 

Incantation #14

Remember me sweetly.
Remember me as a friend.
I love you, and you can depend on me.
I'll be here until the last no matter how long. 

When the value of dreams is questioned,
When you wonder if you're enough,

When the essence of you is doubted,
When your fire meets a cold rebuff,

When your sleepless nights are too quiet,
When the sunrise screams in your head,

When the one-way road appears endless,
When it flings you backward instead,

When the typhoon sinks your weary ship,
When the harbor is not a home,

When this offer sounds like a bargain,
When you don't want to be alone,

remember me sweetly.
Remember me as a friend.
I love you, and you can depend on me.
I'll be here until the last, no matter how long.

As You Were

Don't try to change a man.
That's what they say.  
Never expect it.  That won't be the way.  

But, guess who did?
Looks like you did. 
 
Just what you were
could not tempt her
to stay.

Backchannels have been blocked,
safe rooms collapsed. 
Evacuation is the cure, perhaps.

Where could I go?
No place I know. 

In seconds an
eternity
elapsed. 

Hints of you, they glimmer.
For a moment I can smile. 
Then, the shadow fills in
all the flaws that
catch the light. 
Unfamiliar eyes are
staring back from the canals. 
My home is not here. It
was dismantled
in the night. 

You didn't need saving.
You weren't a sin.
You solved the riddle, just as you were then.

Who has this right?
I think I might,

but you're gone.  It's
too late to ask
again. 
 

Incantation #11 (Inaugural)

Patriarch of patriarchs,
you put me in my place,
who foolishly believed there
might be value to my life,
although it drained away as
age consumed my pretty face, 
without my yet achieving
true fulfillment as a wife. 

Make our nation great again.
Restore to us our right
to kitchen, hearth and birthing
bed, in custody of men, 
to wash in tears of color
til the streets are blinding white,
to spread our one religion
for the others all are sin. 

Defend our Constitution, 
for it guarantees our guns,
and shields us when we stand up
to debase the ones we hate.  
Impel indoctrination
for their daughters and their sons.
"American" means "just like us."
They must assimilate.

What was it your savior said
of needles and their eyes? 
Something about birth control
or queer abomination? 
They say he shamed the wealthy.
What a pack of filthy lies! 
The fortune you've acquired is
the proof of your salvation. 

Build up our economy, 
bring jobs back to our shore.
We all ought to be rich like
you, I'm sure that you'll agree. 
It doesn't make a difference
if they pay less than before.
I know, despite the evidence,
you're looking out for me. 

Patriarch of Patriarchs,
you'll put Them in their place, 
who foolishly believe that
moving forward is the way. 
Reverse us to a time when
being Them was a disgrace,
and then the straight Caucasian
male will finally have his day.

sense

Had we but known
that the end isn't nigh, 
we'd face the aftermath,
we'd live to die, 
might heaven be
the design of our hand, 
a vision we'd realized,
a future we'd planned?
Watch the world reaping the
seeds we have sown.
rich would its harvest be,
had we but known.

Could we but hear
how the silence resounds  
when ichor arises and
seeps through the ground,
would we take heed
of our charges, our own, 
abating destruction,
dividing our throne? 
See all the refugees
fleeing in fear.  
They might go home again, 
could we but hear. 

Could we but see
all the ruins and wrecks
now slumping their shoulders,
breaking their necks,
would we refurbish
and shore up their mettle,
lighten the heaviness
letting them settle?
Ravenous, homeless ones
living asea
might be made whole again
could we but see.

Should you yet doubt
in human potential
or look on our goodness
as inconsequential, 
watch what we achieve
when we see, hear and know,
when we speak our minds,
adapt, learn and grow, 
stretch toward the cosmos, 
grasp what we're about. 
Turn, look behind us now,
should you yet doubt.