
At the edge of who I am, I stand
Determining what it would even mean
To venture forward
Blast from the Past:
I’ve been standing on
The edge of what I have been
And what I could be.
The Cracked Door – Daily Haikus
Reflections on life, the world, and society. Come explore with me.

At the edge of who I am, I stand
Determining what it would even mean
To venture forward
Blast from the Past:
I’ve been standing on
The edge of what I have been
And what I could be.

Flying down the mountain
On the back of a motorbike
Bump, bump, bump throbs my butt
Each thud sliding me further back in the seat
Until I slide into the metal grate
The tiny guard preventing me from flying off the edge
Blast from the Past:
My last chance to feel.
I am this great, unstable
Mess of blood and mud

How come humans can’t
Enjoy what we have without
Suffering for it
Blast from the Past:
Very few people
If they knew the harm they’d cause
Would still go do it

I stare at the screen
Pure blankness, taking in the
Pleasures of boredom
Blast from the Past:
Technology may
Kill creativity by
Killing our boredom

Are we really the
Good people that we always
Thought of ourselves as?
Blast from the Past:
In grand positions,
Who can you now trust to tell
You your true mistakes?

Old memories haunt
As an oozing infection
If you don’t tend to them
Blast from the Past:
It’s like a ghost
That’s been following us both
Vague and unseen

I strive to try to fly.
My lie is that I’d fly so high.
I cry each time I fly so high.
This lie that I will fly.
I can try to fly.
My time to fly is nigh.
If I fly, I’ll die.
I buy the lie to fly so high.
I fly to strive to try.
My eyes grow wide with pride.
I lied to fly so high I’d die.
I try my lie that I will fly.
My cry will fly so high.
My time to fly is nigh.
I fly to try to strive.
Can I just try to fly?
I fly with no cry to die.
I fly so high I cry.
I lie as I try to fly.
My try is that I’d fly so high.
I lie to fly so high.
I try by the by.
My cry will lie and die.
Don’t try to fly so high.
I hide to not fly so high I’d die.
I cry, why can’t I fly?
I grow my grand lie to fly so high.
I cry as I fly.
I want to try to fly.
I must fly to not die.
When I fly so high, I die.
Why lie when I can fly?
I must try to fly.
I fly so high I’ll die.
Less try. Just fly. Don’t die.
Blast from the Past:
But why long for wings?
My shoulders’ pang for freedom
Has kept me grounded.

I
Hide
To
Not
Fly
So
High
I’d
Die
Blast from the Past:
Painting bedridden,
Flying through a mirror,
Flowers on her corset
(An ode to Frida Kahlo)

The waves crash against the shore
Waves of joy
Waves of anger
Waves of sadness
All push against the unmoving shore
Blast from the Past:
We sit here struck by
Waves of strange emotion as
We think together

He kneels for a nice long sob – soft licks smear his face
He turns his glum gaze outwards – his dog pants waiting
Tears breach the dam his eyes held – the dog strides his lap
He whimpers now aware that someone’s there to care
This is my first attempt at an imayo, a form of poetry made of 4 lines. Each is 12 syllables, split into a 7 syllable and 5 syllable section.
Blast from the Past:
Wake happy and cry
By the day’s end. Start doubting
And end satisfied.