Haiku for the Weary Writer

Timely writing,

readers sift, through stories,

hungry for more.

Ideas are like ore,

extracted from solid rock,

Mine of Mind.

Fear and Doubt,

Are sold, by the idle.

I will never invest.

One million words,

is said to make a writer,

words are steps.

My little black book,

Red pen captures idea,

gold, in my pocket.

Reader. Listener.

Silent exchange of story,

a mind grows.

Writing. Cooking.

Practice.  Ingredients.

Perfection takes time.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert


The Z & G of Things


Sharpened axe, flies,

swift and silent,

in the forest, then

in a quick moment,

“Zzz ahh kuh!”

echoes through living trees.

“Zzz aah kuh”, sounds rattle out,

a blown hum in a buzz,

tongue behind slightly open teeth,

“Zzzz”, swirling noise, born

in darkness of the throat.

An axe raised.

“Aah”, the sound of breathing out,

lungs deflate below an open mouth,

Not a sigh, but yet…  a pinch

in the  dry throat,

a dying breath,

without words.

The axe finds its,

speeding arc, head falling

fast toward its prey.

“Kuh!” the back of the tongue,

opening of throat pressed,

a gust of breath pops

loose, a “Kuh!”

The full name said,

the wood now split,

falls over green moss

The swung axe,

weeps tree sap,

a fresh gray gash,

sits silent, upon a yellowed

tree stump, spelling the name,



Green pine needles,

Sway, under a mountain breeze,

clouds weep life.

 “Rape!” Earth cries.

Now naked, brown dirt

green clothes stolen.

Passport required,

to move near to, Earth’s lost,

greener grass.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert