cutting-room floor

So here we are.

Whenever you’re writing poor poems for something you made up called Horribly Local Poor Poetry Month (or HoLoPoPoMo), you’re bound to come up with some haikus that don’t make the cut. (I know what you’re thinking: wait, HoLoPoPoMo has standards?)

What to do with these dregs? Let them fester in your hard drive? Let them rot in the cloud? Throw them out completely?

Not here, you don’t. 

No, sir. We live in a world where people are starving for poor poetry, and that’s a fact, friends. (I don’t need to back up that statement. This is the Internet.) And when people are starving, you don’t throw out old haikus just because they are rotten. You’re welcome, art-starved people.

Here’s one called what we learn on imdb.com:

that cute little girl

in that old 40s movie

is now a gun nut

Here’s one called my thoughts on brooklyn shops:

antiques in bathrooms

and not quite enough of them

bathrooms, not antiques

And here’s one called writing haiku in fifth grade:

counting syllables

poetry doesn’t matter

just five-seven-five

Just one more, and this is timely... it’s called christmas newsletter:

dear everybody

all we did this year was age

happy holidays

Don’t you just love how nothing goes to waste on the Internet?

Yes indeed. Welcome to me.