Fashion shifts in peculiar paradigms. In what was once satiated with violent uprisings, youthful rebellion has turned to adopting and adapting stylistic substance, oft earlier abandoned or vilified, usually with sound reason, and declaring it in vogue. One such instance came almost twenty years after the last of the infected had been incinerated and the plague was defeated. The world was returning to normal, when a ragtag bunch of rascallions began aping the dress and stagnated stumbling of the undead. Their haute couture hi-jinx existed barely a week when a man heavy with memories shot five of them in their faces with his long rusted shotgun. He was never arrested and zombie chic fell soon out of fashion.
More Teen Wolf Haiku
November 10, 2009 by brentdangerfieldThe Beaconstown Wolves
Did not need the Wolf at all.
Poor old sweaty Mick.
The Breakfast Club Haiku
November 10, 2009 by brentdangerfieldFeel ways about stuff.
Don’t you forget about me.
I dropped my pencil.
King Ralph Haiku
November 10, 2009 by brentdangerfieldBawdy King Ralph
Is the heir to the English throne.
Strippers spice the mix.
Teen Wolf Haiku
November 9, 2009 by brentdangerfieldUrban surfing teen,
With hair growing on his hands,
But settled with Boof.
SNES Haiku
October 18, 2009 by brentdangerfieldSuper Nintendo
Beat the Sega Megadrive
With a big green pipe.
Zombie Tanka
October 18, 2009 by brentdangerfieldFingers push the earth
Unlife seethes from down below.
Dead rise from their graves.
In perpetual motion
Until their brains are destroyed.
Escape From New York tanka
October 18, 2009 by brentdangerfieldThe President falls.
New York is no place for him.
Plissken saves the day.
But lo! He enjoys playing
Bandstand Boogie on cassette.
Ralph Macchio Wins Out
October 14, 2009 by brentdangerfieldOut of commission.
Sweep the leg, have no mercy.
Crane kick in your face.
The Misfortunes of the Cigar Biker (T-2)
October 14, 2009 by brentdangerfieldYou were simply playing pool with your friends,
And Dwight Yoakam played out from the speakers.
Your style followed the rebellious trends-
But mattered not if ‘twas boots nor sneakers.
You were simply the Degree Absolute,
You matched the T-800 One-Oh-One.
It was your own fault for being a brute.
And then you thought that you could have some fun.
So you questioned his lack of etiquette,
And you stubbed your cigar out on his chest.
He left you in need of a medi-kit.
Broke your thumb, burned your hands; so you undressed.
Your clothes, your boots and your motorcycle.
‘Twas lucky you weren’t a Cyberdyne kill.
