Here is a quirky little chapbook, a collection of dark "scifaiku," titled Eeku, by Karen L. Newman. These short 3-lined poems might be more aptly described as horror haiku—each one paints a dark image such as:

the latest craze

black bracelets from

burnt bones

or a horrifying moment:

first date

good-night kiss

razor sharp tongue.

The poems can be cryptic in their syntax, requiring the reader to figure out what's not stated, or who's doing what. Sometimes this can be great fun. Take a moment, for example, to ponder this one and come to the "ah-ha":

magic show

knife thrower

stained glass windows

Ouch! But what is a strength in some of the best poems can be a weakness when the same chopped-up syntax and juxtaposed fragments are employed in every poem. Reading through the collection (there are 40 poems in all) I began to long for just one complete sentence, somewhere, or sometimes even just a verb.

This is a minor quibble, however, which is outweighed by the strengths of the assorted poems. Newman has both wit and a sense of humor (not the same thing, by the way), and these two characteristics are what contribute to the fun side of this collection. For instance:

microbiology lab

spilled Petri dish

eight-legged lab tech

(Here is the danger of reviewing this little book—the temptation to quote the best poems, and finding it hard to stop.) But don't think these poems are all laughs. Humor and wit are balanced against the horrific—scenes at a morgue, a chemical lab, a toxic waste zone, and the moment of an atomic blast. Alien attacks also are here, but the true horror belongs to the scenes of human blood and flesh, and science turned to destruction. It seems revealing of our time that the most nightmarish images come from smoggy cities, plastic surgeons, and chemical spills. And, of course, war—the horror that has remained with us for millennia, changing in the technology of destruction but not in its essential nature of raining death and terror on the Other. The atomic bomb is still the ultimate horror, so potent in evoking fear that only rarely can a person even bear to contemplate it. The two best poems on this subject are restrained—no blood, no fire—but frightening nevertheless.

I am sure that other readers will choose favorites different from the ones that I have singled out. That's one thing to like about a collection of short works: you can hover, sample, and choose the most delectable according to your taste, as you would select a chocolate from a sampler. Whether your taste is gore, humor, or psychological horror, you will find something to enjoy—and shiver over—here.

Donna Royston lives and writes in Fairfax, Virginia. Fantasy, with its grand adventure and themes, is her literary love. She has written a novel, The Unmaking, which is in search of a publisher.