It Was Beautiful: Revolutionary Blogging Haiku

Hunting show hosts will/
always yell “beautiful ____*”/
after they’ve killed it.

*bird, buck, thing

Hunting show hosts will/
yell “beautiful ____*” after/
they’ve killed it. It was.

Martins Missed Sunset: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

I wish the purple /
martins had migrated. They/
missed a great sunset.

I hoisted a glass/
of frothy red juice toward/
the West, her saucy.
OR
I hoisted a glass/
of frothy red juice westward,/
t’ward her fieriness.

I see so many dating profiles where people categorize themselves as being a “Hopeless Romantic”. To such women, I wrote this:

Nobody/
should ever be/
a hopeless romantic./
That would be tragic./

Always be hopeful.
Then life’s more full.
Others will draw near
when we’re full of cheer.

The optimistic me
is who women would rather see.
And it also is true:
I prefer a hopeful you.

It brings me heartfelt sorrow and duress
to watch romantics wallow in hopelessness.

There is little quite/
so strange as seeing snow on/
purple martins’ roofs.

The late-spring blizzard/
didn’t seem cold, but it still/
turned the lakeshore blue.

How awesome to know/
that, in some way, we are all/
broken, but He heals.

He wondered where she’d/
go for fresh lime gelato/
and baked pizza dough?

Just in my home state/
would I buy potted veggie/
plants in a blizzard.

I think there was a/
moment when our eyes met, but/
then she looked away.