Ayaz Daryl Nielsen- Three Poems

new moon peeking

through gossamer clouds -

the convalescent 

space pilot waits

within his yearning

(above poem appeared in scifaikest's August 2012 issue)

a long day on

the assembly line -

my soaking tank

filled with hot lubricant

almost to the brim

(above poem appeared in scifaikuest's Feb 2012 issue)

Good Hunting

As I stride this busy cobblestone 

road on my way to a surprise bash deep

in Darkening Forest, ravens perched upon

lightning-decimated remnants of the old

hanging tree chortle “good evening, good

evening,” a huli jing in human form with

long red hair, a thick luscious tail and a

sensuous smile undulates across the road-

way in front of me licking her lips as our 

eyes meet and I would choose to follow her,

but, “good evening, good evening!” from

the dwarves sitting beside the roadway,

belongings in their broad backpacks and

fear across their faces, and a “you’re late,

you’re late, for a very important scrape!”

insists an upright marmot holding a time-

piece as he scurries by...finally!! - the 

thirteen foot (and some few inches) dire-

ogre, its four arms with taloned hands

swinging assorted deadly weapons snarls

“good eating, good eating” as it leaps toward me

from the shadows of a weeping willow’s drooping

branches - I block a descending spiked mace

with my titanium razor-sword by shearing through

the waist-thick forearm, dodge the venomous spear-

shaped tongue flashing past my face and counter

with a slash across the protruding lipless lower jaw

shearing off 3 of 8 two-foot incisors while spitting

chewing tobacco into the beast’s flat, fist-sized right

nostril (note: I am not fond of chewing tobacco, but

as we all know, tobacco spittle forced up dire-ogre

nasal passages - both nostrils is best, but one works

well enough - inevitably results in a berserk, unfocused

desire to maim, mutilate and dismember all nearby

flesh and bone plus a tree or two) engage the three

remaining arms, the lower right arm swinging a tree

limb, the upper left jabbing with splintered remains 

of a circus tent pole, tattered flags still attached (one

has to wonder where that came from) and continue to

evade the ever-flailing forked tongue as I yell to the

ravens circling low overhead and the lovely red fox

peeking from a wild forget-you-never bush, “now this,

my friends” - parry, slash, cut - “this, friends” - scrotum

kick, stab - “this” - whack, screeeech! - “is good hunting!”

ayaz daryl nielsen, husband, father, veteran, x-roughneck (as on oil rigs)/hospice nurse, editor of bear creek haiku (25+ years/120+ issues), homes include Lilliput Review, Jellyfish Whispers, Writing the Whirlwind, Shamrock, and! bearcreekhaiku.blogspot.com (translates as joie de vivre)