The Haiku is a Japanese three-line "poem", with the first line having 5 syllables, the second, 7 syllables, and the third, 5 syllables again. They don't rhyme, but it doesn't really matter. Read on!

Money's everything
Playing any gig that comes
Whores, we are all whores

Squeaking and squawking
All eyes roll to the heavens
The clarinet speaks

One beat to change from
Harmon to cup to bucket
Hey, who wrote this shit?

Here comes the high note
The lead trumpeter puckers
Clam, clam, Fuck!, clam, Shit!

The jam session starts
Somebody calls "Giant Steps"
Cold fear grips my brain

Here's the girl singer
Stepping to the microphone
Pitch, Time, All gone now

Gig is going well
Asshole requests "Stevie Ray!"
I look at my watch

I once had a dream
Big house, new car, big money
Now I play the bass

Gorgeous chick tells me
"You sound just like Kenny G"
Quitting music now

Three-eight, eleven-eight
Fuck you Andrew Lloyd Webber
Five-eight, seven-eight

The woodwind doubler
Practicing the piccolo
(Neighbor calls the cops)

Trane, Prez, Bird, Brecker
Giants of the saxophone
Eat shit Kenny G

Pit orchestra gig
Days and nights become as one
I have no damned life

Bad intonation
Strings are sharp and reeds are flat
Brass too loud again

Great changes, good groove
A one-in-a-million gig
No singer. Yippee!

Jam session bassist
Observes fourteen soloists
Contemplates murder

Say, do you guys know
"Wedding Song" by Kenny G?
Buy the damn record

Riffing on "Rudolph"
Musicians in red and green
Learn humility

Best man pays sideman
Revealing greed of leader
Rebellion ensues

I'm sending a sub
But don't worry, he'll be fine
He's fresh from rehab

Solo pianist
Freed from all constraints of form
Heedlessly mangles

Jazz nymphs crowd bandstand
Offering carnal delights
My alarm clock rings

Double-timing bone
Sounds like somebody chewing
On a rubber band

Forty-two straight gigs
With no requests for "Take Five"
Time to call Guinness

Free jazz temptation
Strikes during the bride's first dance
What Would Wynton Do?

New Years revelers
Here's hoping the stroke of twelve
Sends you the hell home

Checking out women
High stages and low necklines
Great combination

A new world's record
For choruses on "A Train"
My band hates me now

That plate of hors d'oeuvres
Cost more than we're getting paid
Think we underbid?

Break time is over
Rest of band is returning
Now for that phone call

Rock drummer, lounge keys
Classically trained singer
Welcome to sub hell

God bless trust fund gigs
Only have to eat ramen
For a few more weeks

My drummer helped me
Count the syllables in this

Source: Dave Northrup and reader contributions