Accidental Poetry.

A few days ago, my good friend, the Lazybuddhist, commented on her sudden case of Haikuitis. For those of you unfamiliar with the idea of a haiku, let me expound.

According to Wikipedia:

Haiku is a form of Japanese poetry, consisting of 17 Japanese on (a phonetic unit identical to the mora), in three metrical phrases of 5, 7, and 5 on respectively[1], and typically containing a kigo, or seasonal reference. In Japanese, haiku are traditionally printed in a single vertical line, while haiku in English usually appear in three lines, to equate to the Japanese haiku's three metrical phrases[2]. Previously called hokku, it was given its current name by the Japanese writer Masaoka Shiki at the end of 19th century.

To put it in plain English: 17 syllables, arranged in 3 lines consisting of 5, 7 and 5 syllables respectively. Now, I myself do not claim to be a poet. I want to make that perfectly clear before I continue on with this entry. So I read LB's entry, and found it entertaining. But not once did I consider the idea that I myself would be the author of a Haiku.

Fast forward a few days, and I am sitting at lunch with a group of co-workers who happen to also be my friends. As is customary when we gather to dine together, there is certain amount of bantering that goes on. My good friend, who also happens to be my supervisor, Dennis was there. He was busying extolling the virtues of his supervisory skills to whomever would listen. I chimed in, hoping to say something that would, at the very least, let him know I had made the decision he was full of s**t.

So, i said something to the effect of wanting to make some sort of recognition, in honor of his Supervisoriness (don't worry, I know that's not a word). Unfortunately, I was having trouble coming up with some sort of recognition I perform at work. Then suddenly I remembered the haiku. So I said, "Sir, in honor of your great Supervisoriness, I will compose a haiku."

So apparently, when you make such a bold statement as that, your audience then decides to hold you committed to your declaration. So I set to work with a note pad and pencil. I did not realize how difficult it is to arrange syllables in such a specific format. But I think I pulled it off.

Without further ado, I present:

A Ode to My Boss

O’ Dennis My Boss,
Pillar of Strength, shining;
Moral Fortitude.

Example to all,
Reason Beyond Measure and
Patience a’ Plenty.

People Near and Far
Have Sung About Your Wisdom;
They Lauded Your Name.

With Regret, Our Tale
Must Come to a Tragic Turn.
O’ Dennis, Poor Soul.

Your Reputation,
Which Was Once Your Foundation
Made Ego Your Foe.

Blinded by Power,
Your Soul Corrupted by Greed;
Misery Your Food.

But Do Not Despair.
All is Not Lost. There’s Still Time.
There is Hope For You.

Change Your Ways, Vile Man.
Let Your Light Shine, Bright and Warm.
Give to Those in Need.

Be a Better Man.
Recapture Former Glory.
Once Again Praised.

Now, I should make it clear: when I refer to my superior as a vile man, whose ego has brought him to the depths of despair, I mean that in the most respectful, subordinate type of way.

So there you have it. My haiku. I didn't mean to be a poet, but I was.