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Withering Cedars, Georgia, United States
My name is Tim Morris. I currently dwell in Northwest Georgia on my estate, Withering Cedars, nestled at the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, with my lovely wife and two beautiful daughters, where I teach high school American literature. I have been writing poetry for the majority of my life. I write about what I see around me. When asked, I describe my style as "realist romantic surrealism". The environment, sex, jazz, religion, politics, family, etc., are the subjects on which I tend to focus. When I am not writing, I play the banjo, didgeridoo, or drums or wander aimlessly shooting odd objects with my camera.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

haiku

scarred deeply with wind
the trees cry hard, silently,
twisting in their tears.

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snowflakes adrift on
the waves of silly laughter
are the most unique.

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songs flutter from hawks
dancing along the halo
of winter's crisp crown.

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biting like barbed wire,
the rain lashed at my naked
flesh with mad laughter.

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hunted by lightning,
clouds rolled quickly across the
horizon toward home.

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i scribble haikus
furiously across my
dying sanity.

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the footprints i leave
will testify to the lack
of my importance

as they wash away
with the wind and with the furf,
torn from memory.

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i yearn to be a
chinese sage, long of beard, lost
in the clouds of one.

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caught in a flurry
of painted leaves, i inhale;
intoxication.

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born into this life,
naked and full of awe, i
pray to leave the same.

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the buddha's be-bop
riffs between shuddering leaves
lazy sunday noon.

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bees are communists
dancing in their honeycombs
happy in their place.

**********
the evanescence
of bees makes one curious
about consumption.

**********
tormented by the
sun, shadows retreat into
the arms of the wood.

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ants care more than we
about the receeding pools
blistered by the sun.

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