Poems: Presenting Haiku Poetry 4

Photo by Marta Branco via Pexels

<Each stanza highlights different novels I’ve already read this year.>

There is a return

To the Archipelago.

Grand dragons dying.

(“The Poisoned King” by Katherine Rundell)

 

Rocket to the moon.

Onasander is missing.

Infiltrate the camp.

(“The Super-Secret Mission to the Center of the Moon (Pie)” by Melissa de la Cruz)

Ancestral magic.

Mirae’s milk tooth brings her back.

Seeks retribution.

(“And the River Drags Her Down” by Jihyun Yun.)

Filipino food

At Tita Rosie’s Kitchen.

There is food murder.

(“Arsenic and Adobo” by Mia P. Manansala)

 

The Rue de Paris.

Mysterious bakery.

Need pastries and bread.

(“The Mysterious Bakery on the Rue de Paris” by Evie Woods)

Full Moon Coffee Shop.

Astral Milk. Sunrise Syrup.

The shop’s run by cats.

(“The Full Moon Coffee Shop” by Mai Mochizuki)

One can time travel

Before the coffee gets cold.

It’s in Tokyo.

(“Before the Coffee Gets Cold” by Toshikazu Kawaguchi)

A library with

Book characters brought to life.

Magic and romance.

(“The Charmed Library” by Jennifer Moorman)

Isle of Ever.

Two hundred years have gone by.

Hides Evelyn’s friends.

(“The Curse Breaker” by Jen Calonita)

Lisa K.

March 24, 2026

A Poem: "Not Really Grown Up"

Photo by Disney PhotoPass 2025 with Memory Maker purchase.

Not Really Grown Up

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Is the ultimate question for our youth.

It is a question for every age,

To seek those answers like a sleuth.

But this is not a poem of convention.

It’s one of imagination and dreams.

Yesterday I was a pirate queen,

Today a designer with color schemes.

This weekend, I shall be concertmaster

At Boston’s Symphony Hall.

Next month I’ll join Cirque du Soleil,

Then to Broadway for my curtain call.

 

After that, I’ll be a mermaid

For a little, watery bit

Before a turn as a vampire,

But to drinking blood I won’t commit.

 

I’ll take a turn running Walt Disney World

And fly by Firebolt to avoid delays.

I’ll best the record for tallest croquembouche

While writing Oscar-winning screenplays.

It’ll be off to the moon for a landing

Until gravity tempts me toward home,

Where my feet will land on my homestead

And reading encourages me to roam.

Lisa K.

March 23, 2026

A Poem: "Build a Crescendo"

Photo by Benjamin Farren via Pexels

Build a Crescendo

I am but one voice in the multitude

In a sea of people with varying moods.

Some you encounter are a bright delight

While others tempt you to put up a fight.

Don’t knock quietude as a negative response,

For maybe one’s prepping a renaissance.

That quiet is what we need to begin

To dig to the deep well of strength within.

There is subtle strength in quietude,

Lifting us up in a manner subdued.

And there is resilience borne in the dark,

Where things might seem lost, broken or stark.

Rising through darkness is no easy task.

It is much simpler to put on a mask,

But forward and upward we do proceed

Until light shows and the fog recedes.

Spin a tornado. Build a crescendo.

Find that flow that releases your glow.

Through the storm, be the sturdy tree,

And carry on, for we are all mighty!

Lisa K.

February 19, 2026

Author’s Note: The inspiration for this poem stemmed from the response I gave a friend on the poem she had written. Instead of viewing quiet and dark as negatives, I wanted to leave a comment that brightened that view and came at things from a different angle. My quote is below.

“I’d like to picture this quietude, not as a result of the negative people in your life that have changed you, but as the quiet we need to reflect, to dig deep, to encourage that deep well of strength that we all have even if we don’t always feel it’s there. There is strength in quietude and resilience in the darkness. It’s when we remember the bright lights we are that darkness lifts and fog recedes. We are all mighty!” --LK on a friend’s Instagram Reel 1/07/2026

National Poetry Month 2026

Photo of Starfield Library, Seoul, by Philipp Brügger via Pexels

I Have Nothing to Read*

There are books here and there are books there.

There are books practically everywhere,

So why don’t I have anything to read?

I must be lacking books; that sounds logical indeed.

I have books about mythology.

That thriller gives someone the third degree.

A whimsical witch in that novel features.

Those books contain magical creatures.

Reading any of those doesn’t feel right.

I’m not in the mood or they feel like pants too tight.

Plenty of options and yet not enough.

Why is choosing a book sometimes so tough?

The library is close; it’s also where I work.

It has titles for every interest and quirk,

But though their options are bound to be vast

Doesn’t mean I’ll find what I want, at last.

I seek a YA title, but look! Ooh...

A food murder book at a barbecue.

Or there, an adult fic set in a bookshop

And that one with a cat on a countertop.

Oh, what do I read? How do I choose?

Will I simply constantly peruse?

Ha, this is never a problem for me,

For I always read multiple novels, you see!

Lisa K.

March 24, 2026

*This poem is inspired by the age-old question: Why don't I have anything to wear?

Poems: Presenting Haiku Poetry 3

Photo of Lisa in the Agafay Desert, Marrakech, Morocco

A polar vortex

Busied our January.

It was very cold.

February came.

Happy Valentine’s to me!

I gifted myself. <3

There was a blizzard.

City facilities closed.

That was March 19th.

When April arrived,

I was out of the country.

Morocco and Spain.

There was a wedding

With a Moroccan backdrop.

Outside Marrakech.

Sister-in-law gained!

There is beauty in culture.

Brother full of joy.

I rode a camel.

That was an experience

In a rock desert.

A ferry to Spain.

A train ride to Sevilla.

A train to Madrid.

My April’s been full

Of sightseeing and great food.

Adventure awaits!

A Poem: "French Fries Are My Weakness"

Photo by Dzenina Lukac via Pexels

French Fries Are My Weakness

Like Samwise Gamgee, I love potatoes, too.

You can boil them, mash them or stick them in a stew.

Potatoes are a comfort food and prompt less stress,

But of all the tater forms, French fries are my weakness.

Crinkle cuts aren’t my favorite, but I like them when they’re hot,

And though they’re not fries, I do like tater tots.

Or fresh-from-the-fryer from a famous fast-food chain,

When it comes to French fries, it’s a struggle to abstain.

A locally-owned restaurant serves amazing French fries.

To eat a full plate of them would likely be unwise.

Done up in a light batter, they’re crispy and delish.

Now my mouth is watering for a hot fry, golden wish.

Fries are not healthy, but they are a comfort food.

I cannot ignore the deliciousness they exude.

Those fresh, hot fries, tastily julienned.

To axe them from my life, I cannot comprehend.

Sure, I understand French fries in moderation,

But this is not a poem of aggravation.

Where’s that plate of fries with my name on it?

Please send it my way. Lickety-split!

Do you eat your fries plain or with a condiment?

A little salt and pepper has me content.

I’m hungry just thinking of fries as a treat.

Time to turn the oven on to preheat!

National Poetry Month 2025

Photo by Cup of Couple via Pexels

Like a Kid

My nephew said I’m like a kid,

So it must be true.

It’s better than him calling me old.

That’s hullabaloo!

I chased him with a dinosaur.

Indoraptor roar!

He laughed and ran and chased me, too,

Fellow carnivore!

We learned about the beelzebufo,

A large, prehistoric frog.

It could eat small dinos

And was the size of a small dog.

He notices that I’m not tall,

Says he’ll be taller than me “soon,”

And with the way his feet grow,

I’ll be surpassed next afternoon.

We read a series of books

With Creepy in the title.

He laughed aloud and was unperturbed

By the glowing underwear recital!

I am older than his dad,

Which he already knows.

“Are you a kid or an adult?”

Technically an adult, I suppose.

Oh, my nephew, he makes me laugh.

To hear his laughter is a joy.

His imagination knows no limits,

And now there are monsters to destroy!

A Poem: "April's Adventures Through Books"

Photo by Jonathan Borba via Pexels

April’s Adventures Through Books
It’s time for April to draw to a close.
There’s been adventure enough, I suppose.
A milestone birthday passed with quiet fanfare.
That night brought music and fancy plastic flatware.

I met Onasander Octagon, genius-recluse,
But I had to watch out; there were YAKs on the loose.
I traveled to Paris in 1944.
D-Day’s approaching in the second World War.

I rooted for Channi against the Demon Witch
And stayed right there through the heartbreaking pitch.
I paused for a spell at Hope Harbor’s Sandcastle Inn.
Charley’s fish tacos were devoured for the win.

I brushed up on the Ancient World’s Seven Wonders.
Only one stands, the rest plundered, fallen asunder.
I recapped the Salem Witch Trials, too.
What an awful blame game hullabaloo.

Adventures through books are a great way to traverse,
To meet characters who are richly diverse.
With imaginations, who knows what you will find

From the workings of an authorial mastermind!

Poems: Presenting Haiku Poetry 2

Photo by Thought Catalog via Pexels

Haiku on demand
National Poetry Month
My favorite month

The moon hides the sun.
There was a solar eclipse
On April the eighth.

It was cloudy here
The path of totality
Did not include us.

It’s my birthday month
A month of celebration
No aging here, ha!

Delivering hope
Through musical fundraising
The Night of Music

What is writer’s block?
Have you experienced it?
Write down your story.

We all have stories
Some small, some fantastical
Take charge. Write them down.

Find your ray of light
Project it onto others
Appreciate you!

A Poem: "Glitter Everywhere"

Photo by Anni Roenkae via Pexels

Glitter Everywhere
Too often glitter gets a bad rap.
Dramatic thinkers think it’s a death trap.
Glitter gets everywhere and stays for life.
It appears out of nowhere to cause you strife.

There’s glitter in your hair, and it won’t wash out.
You’ve got glitter in your teeth, and it makes you shout.
You noticed glitter when you blew your nose just now.
Even glitter in your socks has appeared somehow.

A glitter galaxy’s formed in your plush rug.
How did that glitter get in your coffee mug?
Someone poured glitter into your footwear?
You say you found glitter in your underwear?

Glitter’s no joke. It invades every space,
Every nook and cranny and your workspace.
Nowhere is safe, not even your car.
Glitter’s been spotted in the cookie jar.

You better watch out for those glitter-full cards.
When it comes to glitter, be always on your guard.
Look high, search low, and shake out your afghan.
I might’ve put glitter on your ceiling fan!

National Poetry Month 2024

Photo by COPPERTIST WU via Pexels

A Rhyming Book Dragon in a Bibliophilic Wagon

Rhyming is for every day. Rhyming is for now.

Rhyming is just what I like. It is the cat's meow.
Note that not all poetry is in rhyming form,
But it is my favorite. It is my norm.

A new month has started. It is April 1st.
I hope it's as delicious as a strawberry Sunburst.
What new adventures will come my way?
How will I celebrate my coming birthday?

Will I be a pirate looking for a treasure trove?
Or a tourist touring through an orange grove?
How about a Fremen riding a sandworm?
Or a war-time nurse tending the infirm?

Will I be a music prodigy in a famed concert hall?
Or a debutante at her first formal ball?
How about a gymnast vying for Olympic gold?
Or a lone human surviving dystopian cold?

Whatever this month brings, I know it will include books.
The suspenseful plots may find me on tenterhooks.
Fellow readers can always find me, a book dragon,
Traveling along in a bibliophilic wagon.

A Poem: "Holy Macaroni"

Photo by Andrew Neel via Pexels

Holy Macaroni

*This is dedicated to my coworker. She has read it and says, “I’d put that on a t-shirt.”*

I just want to run away. I just want to quit.

This place saps my energy bit by bit by bit.

Here runs a near-constant current of distress.

It must be a lot like a bogeyman’s caress.

This place taints my spirit. It makes my soul wilt.

It makes me feel threadbare like an over-washed quilt.

I want to have a meltdown. I want to throw a fit.

Holy macaroni, I’m so sick of this sh*t.

The weekends speed by like the speed of light.

Weeks at this place are like a growing blight.

Stress fills my daytime and my nights with angry dreams

That burst with obscenities at megaphone screams.

A mere vacation is laughable; that won’t do,

Nor will a staycation or a new pair of shoes.

Get us out of here. Get us out quick

Before this crazy to us does stick!

A Poem: "Plotting"

Photo by Dominika Roseclay via Pexels

Plotting

It is far more fun to plot than to plan.

Perhaps it’ll lengthen my lifespan.

To plan is a chore, but a plot can thicken.

The pace of the plot will now quicken.

I plot out my days. I plot out my week.

Plotting months in advance is a winning streak.

The amount that I plot might drive others berserk.

For me, it’s one of my many quirks.

One plots with sticky notes, I’m armed with lists.

And no, I will not cease and desist.

I don’t just do laundry; I plot it out.

Plotting is a serious workout.

My adherence to lists doesn’t make me rigid or cold.

I’m a combination of compassionate and bold.

I’m mostly loving with a side of contrary,

And with a smile, I’ll mind-smite an adversary.

I plot out life with gusto and trips with verve.

Life without plotting, the thought, the nerve!

From simple to complex, I plot with a passion.

And yes, I do plot out my workweek fashion.

Imagine if I took my passion for plotting

And applied it to extensive notes jotting.

There I am plotting world domination.

I am desperately in need of a vacation!

A Poem: "Books Galore"

Photo by Ivo Rainha via Pexels

Books Galore

Books, dear books, sweet books galore.

Mountains of books full of lore.

Books aplenty and books abound.

A great, big, giant book surround.

Books aren’t a hobby, books are life,

But read the wrong one, and I’ll feel strife.

Books aren’t just books; they sustain

And a healthy mental health maintain.

Is it strange to wax on about books

Or to dream of the perfect book nook?

Because this is part of my daily routine,

And, random, but I’d like to try poutine.

I prefer books in a physical form.

Choosing an e-book is not my norm.

There’s something about that new book smell

That’s as strong as any magic spell.

Books from the library can’t be ruled out.

No new book smell, but no need to pout.

Libraries are community friends

That fuel imagination dividends.

I want to live in a Library of Lisa,

But funding that’s beyond the scope of a Visa.

I’ll keep reading two, three, five books at a time

And keep popping in with bouts of rhyme!

Poems: Presenting Haiku Poetry

Photo by Aline Viana Prado via Pexels

A poetry post.

National Poetry Month.

A post of haikus.

It’s a day for fools,

And it’s a day for pranksters.

Happy April 1st!

A decadent cake.

Dusted in powdered sugar.

Edible flowers.

Springtime has arrived.

Waiting for green grass and warmth.

See the flowers bloom.

Imagination.

Dream a nightmare fantastic.

Big feelings, strong words.

Books. My happy place.

T-B-R shelf never shrinks.

A mountain of books.

Travel. More happy.

From Walt Disney World Resort

To everywhere else.

Life. Do live it up.

Aim to be a source of light.

Lots of love, Lisa.

National Poetry Month 2023

Photo by Visit Greenland via Pexels

National Poetry Month 2023

It’s a world of ruin in a world of dark.

It’s a world filled with shivers of sharks.

It’s a world of nightmares to make you weep.

It’s a world black as pitch where creepy things creep.

Time is out to get you and bring you down.

You bear the weight of the world like a dressing gown.

There’s no net to catch you, no one to keep you safe.

Life is out to scare you, make daily life chafe.

Darkness isn’t permanent, though it can overwhelm.

It’s there to be found, the light at the helm.

There is compassion, too, the brightness of hope,

An exclamation of love, where negativity will mope.

Everything is not lost, even if everything is not found.

I hope you are on a path where joy abounds.

Everything bright and joyous. Everything deep and true.

This is what I wish, what I’m sending to you.

A Poem: "Days of Random Thoughts"

Photo by Miguel Á. Padriñán via Pexels

Days of Random Thoughts

Do you ever consider your random thoughts in a day?

Most of the thoughts that I have in my mind should stay.

But plenty of my random is safe to share,

Like the day I pictured if I could pull off light-up footwear.

 

There was the time at work when the gate creaked open itself,

Prompting visions of a horror movie and a sinister bookshelf.

On that same day, one of the lights did something weird.

In a movie, it'd probably mean someone disappeared.

 

Weekly I wish for a retractable third arm.

It'd be retractable, see, no cause for alarm.

But where would it reside, front of my torso or back?

The downfall is that it'd be hard to buy clothes off the rack.

 

What fun would I have if each day bore a new wig?

I occasionally think of that one playful guinea pig.

My thoughts never seem to wind up in a drought.

These are some of the random things that I think about.

A Poem: "What's for Supper Tonight?"

Photo by Cats Coming via Pexels

What's for Supper Tonight?

Suppertime must be close, because I'm thinking about food.

What I'll decide upon for supper, I can't conclusively conclude.

Are you a person who plots out meals in advance?

That's not my norm unless for a planned circumstance.

 

I have hotdish in my freezer; it's my go-to comfort food,

But then I need to make a new batch, as it's not in plentitude.

I definitely don't feel like making a big meal from what's in-stock,

Because I don't get done with work until eight o'clock.

 

My stomach is growling, prompting me to focus on food.

When I'm hungry, tempting thoughts of junk food intrude.

Dreams of chips, crackers, cookies, and fried foods galore

Tell me I should most certainly avoid the grocery store.

 

My thoughts keep running around a wheel about food.

With the exception of this poem, these thoughts are kept in solitude.

I don't want to prep or cook and so I think I might

Go on through a drive-through on my way home from work tonight.

 

* * * * * * *

 

(This post was scheduled to publish at 8 p.m. Hopefully, I'm walking right out the door at this time.)