Fresh Haiku & a Scrambled Brain


haiku on haiku
chickens, eggs, and knotted brains
bite-size food for thought

JACK KEROUAC ONCE SAID “an art dies when it describes itself instead of life.”

It’s a paradox of sorts, like the chicken and the egg, but it makes me wonder whether a writer writes a poem or the lines create the poet? Does ink convey an idea or do readers place meaning on the words? If a typewriter reveals a story but no one is there to read it, do the words still exist? Life is full of mysteries: never stop discovering.

Writing {except for the quotation} and illustration © 2017 Joe Blend & Company, LLC. All rights reserved.