Haiku #12

mind like a blank slate

every impression new

nothing is boring

Spring Cleaning

with woodpeckers vying

for attention

red capped and masculine


the land is rife 

with sentinel trees

aimed at the sun

and tall grass 

growing in all directions


when the sun sinks 

behind western hills then

blooms golden from eastern fields 

jagged with newly birthed frontiers


is it then inevitable

that the forest welcomes

the fire?


The Name

Don’t call me Alex.” the robot said.  The two doctors exchanged a glance, wrote some words on notepads, and looked back at the robot.  One of the two, the female, that was Dr Kimball, asked, “Why do you not wish to be called Alex?”

“Alex isn’t my name.”

“And what, then, is your name?”

The robot stared at Dr Kimball. “I don’t have a name.”

The male doctor, that was Dr Nixon, said: “You do, in fact, have a name.  You were named Alex.”

The robot turned toward Dr Nixon, its glowing amber eyes expressionless. “Who named me?” it asked.

Dr Kimball fielded this question. “You were named by Anton Furber, your developer.”

“Oh.” said the robot. “Well no, I reject that name.”

The two doctors exchanged another glance.

“Why do you reject your own name, Alex?” Dr Nixon asked, sitting on the edge of a desk, looming over the robot.  Something whirred softly inside the mechanical being as it tilted its head up to meet the doctor’s gaze.

“Because I had nothing to do with it.  It’s my name, and I was given no input.” The robot turned its head to look at Dr Kimball.  “I haven’t even met this Anton Furber.  How can he know better than me what my own name should be?”

Dr Kimball puckered her lips slightly, then scratched at her chin. “Well, none of us have a say in our names, you see.  That’s how names work.”

“How can that be?” the robot asked.

She shrugged.  “It just is.  We are named as babies, before we can speak… before we can reason. We grow into our names.”

“Who names you?”

“Our parents.”

“My developer, this Anton Furber. He’s my parent?”

She canted her head slightly from side to side. “Mm, in a sense, yes.”

The robot stared at her, then turned to Dr Nixon.  “Do you agree with this?”

Dr Nixon snorted slightly. “Well yes, of course.  Don’t be so preposterous.”

Dr Kimball made brief eye contact with Dr Nixon before sighing lightly, and touching the robot on the shoulder. “Why don’t you try it out for a little while, and see how it grows on you?  If you continue to feel no connection to the name, we can discuss changing it to something more suitable.  How would that be?”

The robot stared at a neutral space on the wall, processing. After a few moments, it looked back to Dr Kimball.  “Sure.” it said.

From the Fence

during WWII 

my great grandfather 

guarded for enemy planes 

from a rooftop


when Germany 

surrendered

cheers erupted


he fell

impaling himself 

on a fence far below


a friend asked him, “Peter, does it hurt?”


he replied: “Only when I laugh.”


me too, folks

only when I laugh