[Newspoetry] Haikuna Mimemento

[Donald L Emerick]

washingtonpost.com 
 
Personal Message:
Haiku-challenge for haiku-challenged, is it not?

I thought haiku was briefer, terser, more quixotic, more ideo-
semantic, more Jewish-in-aeffect, like me.

I am not, no, not at all Asiatic-Orient(oed)al in my thinking, 
speaking, living.  Not Chinese, not even Manadarin -- Nor 
Nipponese, nor Burma-shaved (for in Burma, who shaves the 
shaver who shaves those who shave not themselves <Aneon: Jesus 
shaves those who shave themselves>), nor Laotian, tidied Thai-
died.  I suffer, as do all Amisericordian Americanoids, from 
Vietnamesia -- which is a free-fall forgetting of fatal 
fallacious empire-games: fin-de-siecle plus ces la change de la 
mimetic meme chose.

We waged a war in the Phillipines for 20 years, bringing 
democracy to that land.   And, when we had killed and captured 
many of the leaders of the Phillipine Insurgency, the ones who 
started the war for independence against Spain, only to see a 
surging US supplant Spain colonially seize them, ex-p(rot)
ectorately, to exploit them, anew, we ourselves were washed off 
the islands, promising (threatening), in a McArthurian legend 
worthy of a ShakeSexSuperMenianism, if any such worthy SSSMen 
were alive today, "We shall return."

In neighboring isles we note the tragedy noted today, for neo-
natal-greeks who heed neo-geek-neo-talk neo-shows, in neo-
tragedy: "Oh, the humanity, when 22,000, 46,000, 84,000 have 
died, in a natural disaster -- in scant moments death spread 
its capes so few escape to become its ex-capes, in some 
bravaderie, comraderie, escaperaderie.

And, then, it becomes somewhat easier to grasp, this horrow of 
the holocaust -- which killed millions on millions, for year 
after year, this plague of Europeanist supremacy that had its 
alpha, beta, gamma et cetera forms -- like a fascist flu that 
is known by a greek signifier after its year of vintage, 
coinage, carnage.
"1944-gamma:  oh, what fine slaughterings of the g(R)apes of 
wraiths we made that year in neo-germanic-neogreek-neo-geek-
speak-easies, where spilled the treasures of europes unrefined, 
in discarded clothing, hats, dresses, coats, pants, socks and 
shoes -- unmentionables unmentioned, even now unnamed, 
generically one.  If it had stopped at nudity, nor gone on to 
purity, perhaps we would have not seen the hairy balls, the 
bony piles -- nor breathed the air too thick of burnt flesh, 
nor felt the rich ashes that made white-snow seem like semin-
melted down, drained."

"1943-gamma -- yes that was the era when 9.+ tsunami hit europe 
every day, or so, in a modern messianic rage against nature -- 
disaster is raised to a much higher power when it razes all 
things to its self-proclaimed much higher power."

The year ends about here.  Oh, it may go on for a day or two, 
but it shall die and yet it shall be born again, anew.  If I 
see you not anymore in this life, look for me to return, for I 
shall return, yes, next year, I promise to return, my darlings 
(especially for you, oh, Windy Ann, and then shall we fly away, 
off to Neverland!  Fly again, to battle pirates, plant peace 
with indians, and believe in faeries, too).

****  Haiku?  God bless you, Achoo-men of Great Acu-men, 
Occumentalist! ****
 
LIFE IS SHORT | Autobiography as Haiku
 
Joe, my 4-year-old preschooler, demonstrated that he wanted to 
talk seriously by being silent and then speaking in a quiet 
voice. "I'm trying to figure out . . ." he said one evening 
before bed. 
 
I bent closer, wondering what mystery had engaged the boy who 
could say "quetzalcoatalus," what problem was troubling him -- 
his mom in bed having chemo for breast cancer that week.
 
"I'm trying to figure out if I should marry Cindy. Cindy might 
not go to my elementary school." Mom and I didn't go to the 
same school, I reassured him. He sleeps peacefully now at 5. 
 
Jim Ball
Falls Church
  
"Children grow up fast," we are told when we become new 
parents. "Enjoy them while you can." As toddlers, our two 
children eagerly took our hands when we crossed the street. 
"Hold hands for safety," my wife and I would announce. They 
loved to play along. 
 
Years later, picking up our son from a middle school dance, I 
whimsically brought the old phrase out of retirement. "Hold 
hands for safety," I cautioned as we stepped into the roadway, 
and playfully extended my hand. My son was aghast. "Dad," he 
replied, "I'd rather get hit by a car." 
 
Richard Stark
Lake Ridge
 
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