Cheaply made. Badly acted. Blatantly derivative. Practically perfect.
Here’s a poem.
I.
Programmed to destroy;
Built to judge and execute;
Designed to rehash.
II.
Credits start to roll.
Verhoeven sighs deeply, frowns,
Calls James Cameron.
What is haiku?
In ancient Japan, a secret sect worshiped a race of towering, immensely powerful beasts known as the daikaiju. Ageless and cruel, these creatures reveled in vanity and wanton destruction. The followers knew, if not given sufficient tribute, the beasts would rise up and cast their shadows across the world, driving the feeble-minded mad, leveling everything mankind has built and throwing the world into chaos.
Using forbidden knowledge passed down from ancestor to ancestor since the dawn of time, the men and women of the sect created haiku, a powerful form of poetic verse that could appease the violent daikaiju. They knew using three lines, each with a calculated number of syllables arranged in a specific, deeply symbolic pattern – five, seven, five – could invoke tremendous spiritual power and soothe the great creatures into a deep slumber.
For generations, a small group of poets, both talented and otherwise, have continued to appease the daikaiju through the power of haiku. Buried in the earth, frozen in ice or cradled in the depths of the ocean, the creatures sleep, their dreams gravid with death and destruction. May they never wake.
All poetry and other written content © Adam Armour
About the author
Adam Armour is an award-winning writer/photographer/general lackey for a small newspaper in Mississippi. He acknowledges that newspapers are no longer a thing and that people in Mississippi can neither read nor write, and he is, therefore, somewhat of an anomaly. He is married, has three cats (which is too many) and one dog (which is also too many). He plays lots of video and tabletop games. He loves movies, especially ones about big monsters or regular-sized undead serial killers. He listens to far too much death metal. He is double-jointed in both arms, although he realizes this is not indicative of the actual number of joints. He has a scar above his upper lip, which he received after falling on his face while chasing a wiener dog down his grandmother’s driveway. He has written one book, “Strange Beasts in a Small Town,” which didn’t do all that well.
Haiku of Horror 
July 6, 2016 at 7:19 am
“Cheaply made. Badly acted. Blatantly derivative. Practically perfect.”
THIS is a poem…
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July 6, 2016 at 1:54 pm
Just two syllables too long to be its own haiku.
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July 10, 2016 at 9:49 pm
Perfection 😉
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July 11, 2016 at 1:42 pm
Why, thank you very much.
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