Halloween Haiku

As a lad, I was a huge fan of TV's "Nightmare Theater," willing myself to stay awake 'til midnight each Friday night to commune with classic monsters and feel the goosebumps rise. As the October holiday approaches, I offer these haiku in homage to Halloween and the great spine tinglers of yesteryear.

 

 

 

Fall's blanket obscures
But gives no warmth to sleepers
In silence below.

A flutter of wings

Outside the open window.

Red eyes pierce the dark.

Asylum howlings
Rend the night gloom with madness.
Who's that lurking there?

 

Electric night roars,

Blue fire and static charges

Declare, "It's Alive!"

Oozing slime he comes,
Creature from the Black Lagoon,
Looking for a date

Slow but relentless,

The undead surge in hunger

Yearning for your brain

Four limbs and a head,
All attached to a torso.
Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop...Chop.

Fur and fang combine

To howl at full moon's creeping,

Seeking flesh and blood.

 

 

 

 

Alien spacemen,

Looking for fodder or fuel.

Mankind will do fine.

Newtons Go Nuclear

I recently waged an amusing war of words with my nephew TOM (budding wordsmith and veteran N.Y. Yankee fan) on the relative merits of Fig Newtons. A simple difference of opinion soon escalated to a Facebook feud of epic proportions. Passionate prose soon gave way to vitriolic verse as other family members piped in with their preferences. Here is the whole 2-day battle from the first harmless volley:


TOM
I hate Fig Newtons. They are just gross.


ME
I love me some Newtons. The only reason I give blood at the annual blood drive is because they always have Fig Newtons as a snack. I never get them at home. Newtons rule!


TOM
They're just dry bread filled with bland jelly. What's to like?


ME
You have obviously only been exposed to month old Newtons. Dry bread--phft. Fresh Newtons are graced with a soft, sweet pastry bread, surrounding the delicate inner core of crushed figs and gentle spices. Perhaps you are simply too young yet to appreciate the subtle sweetness, your tastebuds having been assaulted for too long with abominations such as starbursts, skittles, and jolly ranchers. Hail to the fig!


TOM
The freshness of the Figgy Fiascos was never in dispute. These culinary curses are nothing but bland, crushed figs encumbered by soft, tasetless bread, the "flavor" of which is so overwhelmingly underwhelming that what little virtue which may be contained in the middle is nigh impossible to detect. Your tastebuds are obviously so deteriorated by age and overexposure to these awful anathemas that they have been rendered incapable of perceiving the true horror of these nauseating nightmares called cookies.


PAUL (Tom’s Dad – My Brother)
Ouch! I'm now almost afraid to admit that I like them too.


ME
With age comes wisdom my brother. Fear not the abominable alliteration of impertinent punks and revel freely in the flavor of the fig. Strong words will not sway us from our delight, nor yet the weak diatribe preceding your confession. I call upon all true Newtonians to stand boldly against those who would disparage our comely confection and consume mass quantities in their presence, with accompanying joyous expressions of Epicurian satisfaction. Mmmmmm.


PAUL
I shall both take courage from the passion of your plea, and stand at a safe distance while the flak yet flies (and perhaps nibble on a Newton while the war of words yet wages).


TOM
With age comes wisdom lest he who ageth shuns wisdom for Fig Newtons. My stance shall not be shaken by fanciful written repartee. I shall forever remain firm in my unwavering belief that Fig Newtons are and ever shall be naught but a blatant blemish on the blissful world of culinary creation. The deplorable defense of the monstruous manufacture of these ill-conceived evils is nothing but a vain effort to validate the true terror of the tongue. I stand by my campaign to disparage the Newtonian Nightmare, and I shall prevail.


PAUL
Distant recollections of high school history regarding the Archduke Figinand and the seedlings of the Great War.


ME
Flail away, Laddie.
Your blather carries no weight.
Feathers on stone, boy.


TOM
Japanese poetry is hardly enough; your Newton defense ain't up to snuff. You may try to sway me, but you will fail; you protect these cookies, but to no avail.


PAUL
The haiku attack proffered by the elder, countered by the youth with a mixed meter defense. Might there be a sonnet flanking in the works?


TOM
I have no fourteen lines of love for Fig Newtons. I may have an ode brewing.


PAUL
Ah, lovely. But at some point you should consider going to bed.


ME
Oh ranting, ranting, ranting through the night,
The loser vows to e'er extend the fight
While victors sleep the sleep of figsome dreams
Content to know the world is as it seems.

The Newton has been 'round a long, long while,
Since long before the Yankees made men smile,
And will be seen on shelves of grocery stores
Long after you or I seek heaven's shores.

A billion bars and more were sold last year.
The future of the fig has naught to fear.
So rant away my sad and lonely friend.
The fig cares not a fig for what you send.

Despite all vows of cursed consternation,
The fig will still be there for mastication.


PAUL
Well played.


LIZ (My Sister)
This made my day. You two should post this in some sort of food column or blog. My opinion, fresh Fig Newtons are fabulous but I prefer Oreos and a glass of milk.


KATIE (Another Sister)
This Fotheringham favors the fabulous (fresh) FIG NEWTON!


ME
The Oreo indeed reigns supreme in Nabisco land. Chips Ahoy and Nutter Butter have also made their marks, but the Fig Newton has withstood the test of time and shows no sign of stopping.


TOM
The Newtons shame the cookie world,
Around bland jelly their foul bread curled.
They spread their terrors on the tongue,
While songs of better food are sung.

The Chocolate Chips come to our land
From magic cast by Laura's hand.
They've ever been the choicest treat
For all who yearn for something sweet.

Our most-loved cookie's name you know
But I'll remind you even so.
The Oreo's cream-filled center seems
To be the Newton's shattered dreams.

These mere few mentions make my case.
Your love for Newtons is misplaced.


WILL (Some relation to Tom)
Figs are so bad they hid the snake who killed Cleopatra in a basket of figs. And figs aren't even half as bad as fig newtons.


TOM
Rally 'round the fig, boys! Then burn it and never speak of it again.


ME
Your logic is absurd, my verbose friend
Your mind has gone completely 'round the bend.
Loving one does not preclude the other.
I love both Fig and Oreo my brother.

Though Laura's choco-chip is heaven-sent,
It does not mean that Newtons are hell-bent.
Is it degree of goodness here that throws ya?
It's like comparing manna with ambrosia.

Expand your mind, expand your tastes, my lad.
This chewy, gooey pastry isn't bad.
With Nutter Butter and the Chips Ahoy,
We love them all because they bring us joy.

All these cookies take their rightful seating
'Midst the pantheon of goodly eating.


TOM
You misunderstood, my friend,
The message that I tried to send.
My true intent was to express
That Newtons taste worse than the rest.

I hate the Newtons, as you see,
But you are free to disagree.
You can love many treats, of course,
But I'd feed Newtons to a horse.

You may eat them to your delight,
But I prefer them out of sight.
One last point before I go;
Listen careful so you'll know.

All these essays and all these rhymes
were written just to have good times.

(Tune in tomorrow for a thrilling installment leading up to the thrilling series finale of the hit HAMFAM dramatic comedy show, Newton Wars. Coming up next episode, limericks!)


ME
I tip my pen to you, T. I haven't had so much fun with food since the Jello Haiku competition of '09. I await your limerick with great anticipation, and have one of my own waiting in the wings.

In other words:

I tip my old pen to the writer of verse
Even though he deems every Fig Newton is worse
Than an old leather shoe, only tasteless and drier,
While in my estimation they deserve praise much higher.

Agreeing to disagree seems anticlimactic
But our views remain galactically parallactic
Regardless of relative argument strength
Or use of large words or great verse of great length.

Even the use of Shakespearean screed
Failed pentametrically to do the deed.
Who knew that the fig could invoke such a fray?
But we're still entrenched in our own junk food way.

Although your Newton-hate lacks any merit
Your words enchant me and help me to bear it.
And keeping my fig-love intact, "I declare it!"
I know I'd be better off eating a carrot.


TOM
I once tried a snack called Fig Newton
Whose merits I will be disputin'.
They fill 'em with paste
That gives 'em no taste
And they made me throw up on my futon.

They call the Fig Newton a cookie,
But I wouldn't feed it to a wookie.
I love Oreos
Which are made by the pros
But Newtons must be made by a rookie.

The treats of the fig are so vile.
They make me regurgitate bile.
They're disgusting, I say,
In such a strong way
That I want to burn them in a pile.

Fig Newtons are bad for the heart.
I was aware of this from the start.
They just taste so gross
That they make me morose
And eating them just isn't smart.

I hope these few verses will show
That Newtons are truly your foe.
Be careful, my friend,
For they are a dead end,
And they will create nothing but woe.


ME
There once was a lad of the Utahns
Who tried to disparage Fig Newtons.
This despicable trick
Made his uncle quite sick,
Who therefore began the disputins.

"They're tasteless and bland," said the laddie.
"They're soft and they're sweet," said the daddy.
Neither one would agree
With his foe's repartee,
So the war escalated quite badly.

In poetry soon they were battling,
The rhymes spewing forth like guns gattling.
Before they were through
There was even haiku
And sonnet-like sabers a-rattling.

Despite all invective and wailing,
The truth never found her unveiling.
In matters of taste
There is much time to waste
With neither side ever prevailing.

Eventually both parties languished,
The words turning flat, dull and anguished.
Thus a "treat"y was drawn
So that both could move on
And retire unconvinced, yet unvanquished.

(cue heavenly choir)


PAUL
Bravo! Bravo!


TOM
Well fought. How do you feel about celery?


ME
Delicious, but only with peanut bu...Now don't get me started, whippersnapper!


A few days later, Tom posted the following final jab:

Out Early Running

About a month ago I started jogging again after a winter hiatus, and one morning was met with what may be the most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen. When I started from home, the deep blue of night was just beginning to retreat as a dim glow began to outline the Rockies far to the east. Strewn just above the jagged peaks were a bundle of low clouds, kindling for the fiery display about to unfold.
.

I started running south and then west, tackling the steady climb towards the Oquirrh's while my legs were still fresh. Turned away from the advancing morning, I missed the first incendiary brush strokes of dawn. After about 20 minutes, however, I reached my half-way point, circling the raised western edge of a small neighborhood park.

As I made the turn to the north, my eye was diverted from its usual focus on pavement by an unusual brightness to the right. Since the park sloped away to the east, nothing obscured a panoramic view across the valley. As I turned, my eyes were assaulted with color.

The clouds above the mountains were ablaze in red and orange light, like coals of an old campfire restoked by winds of morning. Normally obscured in sillouette, the mountains now proudly displayed both crag and crevice, each glacial patch awash in reflected fire. All was set against a crystal blue backdrop which summoned both bird and pilot to joyful flight.

Rarely have I interrupted a morning jog for anything but injury or neighborly greeting. But I had to stop. This was a scene of glory that demanded an appreciative pause. 

For several minutes I gazed awestruck at the beauty before me. I had been there before; this was my regular route. But never had the planet so unabashedly preened before me. This beauty had always been there, hidden in shadow or blanched by brilliant sunlight. But just for a small moment before dawn, as Earth bowed toward it's lifegiver, was it's full glory revealed.

In nature, God provides patterns, clues, and examples, often hidden, to be revealed to those prepared to benefit from the knowledge they contain. As I gazed upon this sunrise scene, I thought how the full beauty, grandeur, and glory of man is often hidden in shadow, and revealed only as he bows in humble devotion to his life-giving Creator.

A morning prayer is much more than a one-way recitation of need or expression of thanks. It is also a revelation of grace, beauty and possibility for the created.

I feel a few lines coming on:

Out early running, I turn to the east
And gasp at the morning's prostration.
Earth bows before the more glorious orb
In humble, devout adoration.

Reflected there in the Earth's morning prayer,
Revealed by this act of conviction,
Is His love for all that His hands have made,
The beauty of God's benediction.