NINJA, here is your ode, and to those ninja's who have fallen in silly battle. C/C?

[Thingum Bob Esq.]

The sweat from the heat drips
To the ground as the steel in
The furnace. It will forge
The perfect Samuri sword.

I have lost one eye from
A throwing star richocheted
Off the wall, and now I
Am like a virgin Cyclops

In heat, like the stone
Oven that keeps me warm
At night, as I wear silent
Slippers to quietly kill

My right hand. I bow to
Myself in the mirror, as
I make myself a castrato
With that shorter sword,
Whatever it's called.

And now, a Haiku, for you
(To sing: Three-quarter time,
first beat, first measure--on F (one octave higher,
per il castrati) to G sharp--climax ("please") in A to F):


i am a ninja
i kill silently at night
please don't shoot my dog
Dear Sandy, I've not heard or seen you for the longest time.
It is wise to stay under the radar of mediocre poetry, such as mine.
Maybe it is to do with my occasional visits to a site I once held
with many friends, until things went awry.
I've been here so long, it's difficult to let go.
I hope some of these old friends, great writers now long gone,
should one day reappear.
A Merry Christmas to you.
John.