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Early in the Morning Trying to Get Some Work Done Haiku

A grass blade’s edge cuts No pancakes, waffles or meat It is too green to.

Biggie looked over the reports of the last decade, and came to the undeniable conclusion that his boss had sold the company out.

Twenty-five miles from The Cereal Capital Twenty from the lake

Humming Hummingbird Twitching tissue on a comb Where is my shotgun?

“What’s truth?” said Pilate Winter yields to autumn breeze There’s truth in fiction

Oh weee! bop bop bop Glissando ‘lectronica Analog rules it

I love them both, she cried, and she never made a choice.

If you hear a call It’s an island paradise Your own special one

Stir up the butter Sift in flour to thicken it Then mix in the soup

Some say gumbo has The roux of all evil in A breezy kitchen