A Sunny and Summer-y Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon





Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:




I’m down on my knees.
Tell me what I want to hear:
How … do … I … get … up?




At the timberline,
the earth fell away and the
sky overwhelmed me.

a desperate tree
tried to hold back the clouds, but
a stormy night prevailed.






Panoramic sky
We drive into the future
chasing after clouds.







A rusty Ford coupe
parked in the driveway of a
two room bungalow.

(photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)




the element of surprise
and joy will wither.





(Forgot to include this in last week’s heap … )


tanka haiku:

I do not care that
Snoopy is, in dog years, o’er
four hund’red years old.

He will always be the dog
that other dogs hope to be.

(Photo of a young MrSmith1 holding a Charlie Brown and Snoopy Action Figures … Not dolls, action figures!)




When poets can twirl
literary lariats,
they’re soon laureates.





double haiku:


Rain on long-parched ground
the desperate earth absorbs
the precious liquid

Each descending drop,
restores a little more hope
our drought is over.







Worcester, where what was
worse, was when wasted water
weighted wet waiters.







A careful dipping
of the brush, will ensure a
steady flow of ink.



Driving blue highways,
seeking out less traveled realms,
small town life endures.







of Life’s complexities makes
easy answers hard.






She entered, wearing
a sweatshirt and dungarees
and left him breathless






She used her giggle
to attract young men, and her
wiggle to keep them.









Quietly, the dusk
soothes the ocean waters and
calms the day for night.







There’s a Summer place,
near a secluded beach … I
spend hot nights with you.








Sweeping ‘cross the sky
lost souls in search of heaven
as daylight retreats.








As the night draws nigh
chickens roost and dogs bark at
approaching shadows.








Double haiku:

My walk tired me,
I rested under a tree,
my thoughts wandering.

Alas, wandering
thoughts seldom sleep. In fact. they,
often run ahead.









Never doubt your place
in this, the grand scheme of things.
You’re meant to be here.








Still a bit nonplussed,
Your perfume on someone else …
Nasal betrayal,






Dear Philo Farnsworth
Thank you for Television
But NOT Donald Trump!



( Happy would-have-been 110th Birthday, Philo T. Farnsworth! )





He sits all day and
sketches girls wearing tube-tops …
the midway artist.










Medals and flowers
Then booze after-hours … Caught in
a lie … You won’t fly.







Our hearts may forget
their most crushing defeats but
none of their triumphs.







Shattering silence,
The car horns’ cacophony,
Wakened my neighbors






With a loving arm
and a kind word, a mom saves
an uncertain youth



(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)





triple haiku:

I will not admit
I ever held you, but now
I’m letting you go.

Feeling you against
me, got me through the night. but
now the morning’s come.

We may never meet
in the flurry of the years,
but you’ll stay with me.









The dark before dawn;
lonely hearts beat quicker in




Tell me your secrets
and my heart will be yours.  True
love will last forever.





Angels still sing as
we carry on with our lives.
(They’re paid a flat rate.)







 “Haberdasher’s Hi-jinks!”
“Picnics in Cluttered Canoes”
…  Closed out of town.)





A freshly waxed floor,
an over-eager puppy …
hilarity ensues.






double haiku:

Ah, the Brooklyn Bridge.
This iconic span defines
grace and elegance.

Like giant harps that
span the river Jordan, the
bridge’s cables loom.







tanka haiku:


From her widow’s walk,
she gazed at the horizon,
hoping to catch sight

of sails from her husband’s ship
returning from its voyage.






While you sleep at night,
miracles tiptoe past you.
If only you’d wake.






Eating blackberries
on a Summer’s afternoon
makes me feel care-free.






When your heart is full,
be generous, When bereft,
be understanding.






A starry night, wind
rustles the dandelions.
We cautiously kiss.





tanka haiku + haiku:


Has it all been said?
Do we just repeat words which
have lost all meaning?

   Does the subtlety of one’s
inflection change anything?

Does memory loss
bless one’s creativity?
Maybe … I forget.





 Implausible schemes
might come to fruition … if
the timing is right.




bonus poem:


On having a chronic illness:


What do you do each day to say, I am still and ever me?
To plant your flag and tell the world that what you are, you’ll be,
To state emphatically that you’ll remain the person that you’ve been,
For though your path is shifting, the tides still go out and in,
You are the same now as you were, it’s just a diff’rent game,
The wrapping may be ‘brand new’ but the content is the same.







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A Semi-Final Heat on a Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon




Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:




tanka haiku:

In Nineteen Eighteen,
World War One was still raging,
King Tut, still unknown,
Band-aids, Penicillin and
‘Radio’, all yet to come.

(Putting my mom’s birthday in perspective.  She would have been 98 on August 8th.)





Our own impact can’t
be known to us. For we’ve touched
lives and don’t know it.






Remember, when you’re
tall in the saddle, your feet
are not on the ground.







 I sometimes wonder,
is it still flying a kite,
if I let it go?




double haiku:


Two ballet dancers
arch their backs and reach their arms
up to the heavens.

A plea to God to
understand the suffering
in this mortal realm.




Infantilize you …?
Be my, be my baby now
Oh come on, grow up!




Orchid on her wrist,
She twirls in her flouncy skirt,
The belle of the ball.







Despite the road maps,
Cluttering up the front seat,
Where are we? Don’t know.





Shhh!  Look over there,
nibbling on the bramble,
a doe and her fawn.




He expects to learn,
through obtuse introspection …


 … it will take a while.









They scrawl on postcards,
“Miss you. I wish you were here!”
Tourists plagiarize.




tanka haiku:
Ah, Domestic bliss!
She relaxes while he cooks,
they discuss the news.

And later, after dessert …
they will sleep contentedly.







tanka haiku:


All the old worries
have been resurrected by
my return to earth.

while souls in heaven’s hammocks
enjoy eternal slumber.





Our ends should come as
a complete surprise … as if
an interruption.




No new gnat knows naught
Nifty Northern gnats gnaw nuts.
neither, numbs knightly gnus …



While the daylight shines,
many lives are not like me,
darkness unites us.








Baby genius drools
stupid parents wipe her mouth
Evolution! HA!








You can not tell Time.
Time is such a know-it-all …
Time and Space are jerks.







We will perservere.
We’ll wake again tomorrow
and tend our gardens.




Two old women walk
on a foggy esplanade …
head scarves and hand bags

disappear into the mist
and quite soon, they do as well.







While he was coping,
dealing with all of his pain
the world slipped by him.







A sheer cotton dress
flutters around her body
with each gust of wind.





As humidity
rises, timidity falls,
she wears less and less.








Mother’s charm bracelet,
clanged against the banister,
as she climbed the stairs.



Pancakes for dinner …
because I’m an adult and
I’ll do what I want.










Psychic helps chickens
to get to the other side;
Is that Poultry-geist?





Having conquered fear,
my soul is now free to seek
out better angels.









 tanka haiku:


We fight our whole lives
to thrive in the world of our
parents, only to

discover that we’re living
in the world of our children.




They were on a lark,
when they met an old school mate
living on the street.







The scent of jasmine
scatters as the door is slammed
and she rushes out.





Few shall ever know
private failures we endure …
unless we succeed.





Souls forge truth and hope,
while minds dream up fantasies
and hearts search for love.



A leaf-less tree frames
a lonely farm-house in the
middle of nowhere.





There is a structure
to all things, and a context
to fence it all in.




I feel so alone.
I watch the tide come in and
think of yesterday.







The deepening blue
gently quiets golden waves.
Nightfall approaches.






tanka haiku:

I do not care that
Snoopy is, in dog years, o’er
four hund’red years old.

He will always be the dog
that other dogs hope to be.

(Photo of a young MrSmith1 holding a Charlie Brown and Snoopy Action Figures … Not dolls, action figures!)




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A Ubiquitous Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon




Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:




In the morning light,
a sailboat on the Hudson,
moves as in a dream.






Fridays after work,
She’d really let her hair down,
And would dance till dawn.




I sometimes wonder,
is it still flying a kite,
if I let it go?



“Few half-way measures,
Get as much coverage as
A partial eclipse.”


And then, tempers flared!
punches thrown, faces bruised, then …
cooler heads prevailed.





Eating blackberries
on a Summer’s afternoon
makes me feel care-free.





Immortal souls that
live in mortal bodies … God
being ironic.










His heart was left in
San Francisco,  his wallet
was left in Madrid.

(Happy 90th birthday this week to Tony Bennett.)







A drizz’ly morning’s
walk through a nearby woods, cleared
my mind of its gloom.








Though she pined for him,
she could not find a way to
gracefully forgive.








As the dusk draws nigh
chickens roost and dogs bark at
approaching shadows.










Do you still explore?
Search for meaning in things? Solve
a jigsaw puzzle?







A moonlit whisper,
two lovers in silhouette,
embracing passion.








Hazarding a guess,
he offered an opinion,
which was met with snark.










Underdone egg with
no emotional center …
it’s simply, no yolk.







I once poached an egg
that should have been scrambled … But
now that egg is toast.








Silent flutterings,
and pirouettes in mid-air …
butterfly’s ballet.







Lonely Avenues
driving up Riverside, I
Feel those West End blues

(Happy-would-have-been 115th birthday this week to Louis Armstrong.)







I’d Venture to say,
at some point, all guitarists
try playing “Wipeout.”




I stood on the path
behind the Master’s house and
waited for the maid.

A shy young lass with
rosy cheeks will come my way
after serving tea.


(The House of Piette à Montfoucault by Camille Pissarro – 1874)





In Life, two choices;
remain bewildered, or seek




The dark before dawn;
lonely hearts beat quicker in





tanka haiku:
Where is that diner?
The one that serves those pancakes
with ice cream on top …

Near the junction of Route Three
and the cardiac bypass.





Sometimes the world so
overwhelms us with beauty,
our hearts nearly burst.









Grabbing his drumsticks,
he played a paradiddle
that would beat the band.






Live near a garden,
for spirits of the Earth are
flattered by flowers.









A warm Summer’s night;
he whistles as he strolls through
the woods near his home.









A careful dipping
of the brush, will ensure a
steady flow of ink.

Not ev’ry almond
will taste of perfection, but
all hold the promise.




It’s been said that in
the wasted pursuits of youth
live our old-age dreams.






Weary troubadour,
guitar slung across his back,
thumb out to hitch-hike.



Fear is a fabric
that folds under stress, and when
in hot water, shrinks …




Bonus poem:


Eggs over easy,
Time after time,
Water under bridges,
Pearls before swine,

Age before beauty,
in sickness and health
life is a blessing
without or with wealth






Posted in The Haikulodeon

A Tweet-Baiting Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon





Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:






Heartfelt homilies
give Sunday morning breakfasts
ample food for thought.










We may never know
what winds blow thoughts through our minds,
swirling up our past.









displayed in each step he takes
screams, “I’m not done yet!”








In the pizza joint,
flakes of Oregano spilled
across the table.











To remember love
is to journey through the soul
and restore the heart.









All the king’s horses,
And all the king’s men, liked their
egg over easy.










 The billowing sails,
The churning, white-capped waters,
grey skies at ebb tide.









Dogwoods are in bloom
around the traffic circle,
bumper to blossom.









The world passes by.
I look out my window and
imagine stories.









Tucked in his wallet
was a photo from his youth
of a secret love.






tanka haiku:


He sits at breakfast
quietly sobering up
sipping his coffee.

     His legs bruised, his hair matted,
and somehow minus trousers.






A wise old man sat
amidst the rubble and smiled
at all he had learned.









This is the Future
that you dreamed about while you
sat in Study Hall.







As her ‘crush’ approached,
she giggled like a schoolgirl,
her face turning red.









He lay beside her,
getting stains on his jeans from
the freshly cut grass.










Kicking off her shoes,
She ran down the beach and stepped
on a jellyfish.







triple haiku:
O’er the crest of the
hill, beyond the turn in the
road … where hope resides.

turn the corner, lift
up the veil, enter darkened
rooms, destiny waits.

Do not be fearful.
Trust that no harm will come, for
you have much to do.








Skies with quiet clouds,
a boardwalk sparsely peopled,
with folks lost in thought.









I hear distant trains
and imagine going home …
whistles ride the wind.









The fabric of Life;
From order to chaos, we
slowly unravel.













The ice machine’s broke!
Damn cheap motel in Podunk …
We’re drinkin’ warm beer.







Many a great man
has been brought low by the smell
of baby powder.







 Wishing for rainbows
is fine, but refracting light
through a prism … works.







A sweltering day,
I wait for my ride to work,
counting beads of sweat.







You hope for glory …
too often settle for praise …
don’t lose your focus.








Rock and Roll bad boys
need a balance breakfast too.
Snap, crackle, pop-stars.

(Just before hitting it big, The Rolling Stones made this commercial for Rice Krispies, written by band member Brian Jones.)






Chasing a sparrow,
Doesn’t seem like such hard work,
Until it takes off.









double haiku:


Loads of Malarkey
are often delivered in
keynote addresses.

But, when Biden time,
the malarkey will flow in
other directions.








Self promotion! … or
Become a General … just
be unspecific.  








Teen-aged Romeo
waited ‘neath the boardwalk with
a cold grape soda.







Unleashing your joy
will lift you off your feet and
point you to the stars.



(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)





Youth will always snatch
the hands of time from elders
and run out the clock.









Deep in thought, he walks,
Through harvest-ready orchards,
Hoping apples drop.









Never-ending songs
often go into re-verse …?
Of chorus they do.








Swimming with the tide
may take you into oceans
of profound regret.









Up hills and down dales,
I expand my horizons …
plagued by two sore feet.







In the morning fog,
the field beyond seems painted
with watercolors.









We will persevere.
We’ll wake again tomorrow
and tend our gardens.








Regrets at sunset,
Never fully wipe away,
The sins of today.









We search for meaning,
but as we wander through Life,
fog envelops us.


tanka haiku:


The curve of her waist,
the creases of her smile, the
wisdom in her thoughts.

     She slowly consumed all his
waking moments … then, his dreams.




double haiku:


Old women shuffle
Guy with beard argues on phone
Youngster bounces ball

Small bird pecks and hops
Delivery guy parks his bike …
This sidewalk sees all.






Each dusk he watched the
darkening sky’s shifting shades;
blue-ish indigo.





Too few epistles
twixt clover and thistle, but
many a whistle.







double haiku:

Jiggling joggers
waiting for the light to change
bouncing up and down

When the light turned green,
a pony-tailed tsunami
swept across the street.







The gist of each jest,
(as each guest might have guessed), was
at the host’s behest.





In the marbled foyer,
an arrangement of jasmines
offers us welcome.


If you struggle to
build ships in bottles, why not
get bigger bottles?


After the rainstorm
shimmering shafts of sunshine,
broke through the dark clouds.

(Photo courtesy my friend and neighbor, David Thompson)

 haiku + tanka haiku:
Is love illusion?
Rainbows just refracted light?
Is what you feel, real?

Do we dream at all
or is it all a dream? We
may never be sure.
So whistle if you like, friend,
we all chose which world we build.




Bonus poem: 


Time is the killer of hope,
Age the renewer of virtue.

Our vanity seeks an older mirror,
our wisdom thinks better of looking.

The strength of our passion
will yield to the weakness of empathy.

We are at war, my friend, at war.

Fighting time means ultimate surrender.
Forgiving our weakness will open ev’ry locked door.


(More Later)


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A Blissfully Ignorant Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon


Quietly, the dusk
soothes the ocean waters and
calms the day for night.

(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)




Here’s the rest of this week’s heap of haikus:

Special Edition: *You-Do-the-Haiku*

Special Guest haiku by my pal, Jim Weatherhead


“I and I alone”
manic rants of grandeur fuel
minion’s illusions.


A clown, a gypsy …
one dances the night away
wearing some red shoes

(Photo:  In the early 70’s, I played a Gypsy with a bad mustache and fake eyebrows, and my friend, Denise Moses played a clown who couldn’t speak, in a Children’s Theater production of The Red Shoes.   To promote the play, we went on Ho-Ho the Clown’s TV show in Oklahoma City. I was doing this ridiculously over-the-top accent and, since Denise’s role was a mute, I got to do all the talking. Ho-Ho was amused, and let me read the Happy Birthday greetings with him and Denise and I did some silly stuff and promoted the show and when we left, Ho-Ho turned to his puppet co-star and said something to the effect of, “Isn’t that just about the silliest thing you’ve ever seen?” and the puppet, paused a moment and then shot back, “You’re one to talk, you’ve got a red ball on your nose and you’re talking to a guy with a sock on his hand.” And yes, I swear he really said that on-air. The stage hands were laughing so hard, you could barely hear Ho-Ho, trying not to crack up, introduce the cartoon …)





double haiku:

Two ballet dancers
arch their backs and reach their arms
up to the heavens.

A plea to God to
understand the suffering
of this mortal realm.






Waving our goodbyes
we climb into the car and
begin our trip home.


tanka haiku:

All men were once boys,
All leaders, once followers,
Wise men, ignorant.

Neither resent nor regret,
all will soon enough be frail.

When authorities
abuse minorities, check
their priorities.






haiku quartet:
Tennessee Whiskey
smoothly trickles down my throat,
savor the swallow.

Backwoods honky-tonk,
Woman in a short blue dress,
watches me get drunk.

I get up to leave
she gets up to see me go
in that short blue dress.

Sittin’ in my armchair
thinkin’ ’bout that short blue dress …
I go back for more.






Overheard at a
sidewalk cafe; “I hate her,
she’s so full of snot.”

(Actual verbatim dialog heard by me while strolling down an NYC street one day … )



Muted shades of dawn,
the pier in the distance fades
into memories.

( Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo )






There, on the sidewalk,
he spied a crumpled dollar
which looked a bit spent.



Swirling dust bunnies
make it difficult for me
to find what I dropped


Stop … Listen to me.
Nothing will last. Got it? Good.
Now go out and play.


Though she feigns int’rest,
She simply can’t get into,
Sports or Politics.

A receding tide,
May reveal many secrets,
Buried in the sand.

Being Left-handed,
isn’t really a problem,
it’s just never right …

tanka haiku:

You are not happy
with the way things turned out? … Ask
for a mulligan.

This time, ‘stead of a three wood,
try using a pitching wedge.

Too little to do,
Or too much to remember …
Which do you prefer?

Will it ever end
this d*mned oppressive heat wave?
Turn up the a/c!

Wilting from the heat,
A dog learns fire hydrants
Also spurt water …

Random photographs
of New York sidewalks might be …

(Random snapshots taken the other day while waiting for my Access-a-Ride pick-up.)

In a storefront church,
A young girl began to sing,
And the angels wept.

haiku quartet:

Please make up your mind,
Am I your heart’s desire,
Or scum of the earth?

Yes, that is the choice,
I don’t want to play both parts,
Can’t we meet half-way?

You’ll put up with me,
I’ll forget it’s your birthday,
But then, send flowers.

Thrown under Love’s bus,
But facing oblivion,
Our hearts compromise.

Whispering children,
giggling in a corner,
secret adventures

He tried to please her,
he tried to reason with her,
she tried his patience.

If you own a gun,
you’ve agreed to a world where
shooting’s an option.

A Saturday kind
of enthusiasm, a
Sunday kind of Love …

Little girls on swings
always seem so happy, as
if they’ve learned to fly.

(My mom – circa 1923.)

Things start off badly
the elevator is out
I needed the lift.

Hidden in the grass
tortoise-shell reading glasses
covered with dog spit.

Her head on my shoulder,
my arm around her waist, we
waltz the night away.

We once did great things …
but the greed of the rich has
stolen our future.

Shouting from rooftops,
‘My humility’s the best!!’,
sends … a mixed message.

Regrets at sunset,
never fully wipe away,
the sins of today.

Quiet young ladies
sit in Starbucks and “like” their
own Facebook comments.

Words had no effect,
so, reluctantly, he tried
throwing sticks and stones.


tanka haiku:
The boat was blue and
the paint was peeling … Your
hat soft on my ears …

  between us, at that moment,
there was this great happiness.

Photo of me in 1972, as Private Gar in a college production of Brian Friel’s “Philadelphia Here I Come!” The tanka haiku is loosely based on one of Gar’s speeches.






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A Non-Dystopian Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon



Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:
Love may seem like a
fallowed field, but Love won’t yield
a random harvest.


Though living in the
best of all possible worlds
Candide still hatesTrump.

(Just-for-fun Bonus:  What is possibly the best overture for a Broadway musical … ever.)


As humidity
rises, timidity falls,
she wears less and less.

The sheer cotton dress
flutters around her body
with each gust of wind.



tanka haiku:

Two pretty girls
waiting for a crosstown bus
discuss politics.

One said, “Hillary’s for me!”
The other: “I hate her too!”

Trump has short fingers
but sharp elbows, which he needs
when combing his hair.

In the afterglow
either embrace or reject
changes the flames wrought.

kids discover joy …
the world comes to a stop … we’re
innocence junkies

Set wide the window
and let me drink in the day
for I’m feeling parched.

(from an Edith Wharton quote … more or less.)  


Sunshine and whiskey
are a lot like Love; too much
can make you go blind.

Thoughts run through my head,
in-congruent images
chasing after them.

Ev’ry Flea Market
has old maids who’ll wrestle you
for Fiesta-ware.

Plaid lumberjack shirt
o’er black tights and blue tattoos;
hot babe on 4th St.

I stand in a field,
listening to the night’s sounds …
strangely comforted.


A whisper, a glance …
her touch lasts but a moment,
yet his core’s shaken.




Memories still pop
into my addled brain, to
amuse my dull thoughts.

As some swallows swoop,
some roses dance in the breeze;
our world’s in motion.

Utagawa Hiroshige (Japanese, 1797–1858) |
Swallows and Kingfisher with Rose Mallows | ca. 1838

A cool Summer night;
he whistles a sad song as
he strolls down the street.

A box of choc’lates
sits on his office desk and
hopes to be opened.

double haiku:

It’s three fifteen, and
wakened from a sad dream, I
try to clear my head.

Thoughts of you linger
and entwine with my day’s chores.
You still haunt my heart.


On grey, rainy days,
she first sulked at the window,
then, wished for blue skies.

Do not be alarmed,
but those mental disorders
ARE all in your head.


double haiku:

Riding the porch swing,
we kiss while listening for
your father’s footsteps.

The moonlight creates
shadows which tease my desire
your allure is pure.

Fitful nights will pass.
Sleep will overtake sadness.
A new day will dawn.


A sliver of moon,
slicing through the clouds, restless
shadows roam the fields.




Why is a cat like
a burning monk? ‘Cuz neither’s
putting itself out.

Life’s overwhelming
Ev’rything I do, brings pain,
I’m feeling helpless …

haiku triplet:  
Another shooting.
Still more lives lost, more wounded.
Still too many guns.

Too many shooters
that should never own a gun,
can still get a gun.

Stop protecting the
guilty by hiding them ‘midst
all the innocent.


It is Summertime.
The livin’s easy and the
fishin’ is sublime.

(My mom in the mid-1930’s)

Sitting on her porch
on a Summer’s afternoon,
she feels a cool breeze.

(My maternal grandmother about 1917)

Beauty is fleeting,
like Cinderella rushing
back home at midnight.

Married for ten years
and never an argument …
just bitter feelings.


double haiku:

An Irish Setter,
gallops through Riverside Park,
greeting each toddler.

His owner just laughs,
reassuring scared nannys,
the dog is friendly.

At the Hootenanny,
he fell in love with Mary,
sans Peter and Paul.


tanka haiku:

Try to retain the
ability to express
spontaneous joy.

    Any moment, happiness
could spring from your consciousness.


When the universe
conspires to foil your plans,
don’t bitch, make new plans.

haiku quintet – written last year to celebrate Ramona’s 59th wedding anniversary:

Forced to make choices,
Ramona’s voices told her
t’was best to be wed.

Now, they fit snugly,
their bodies melt into one;
their love, just oozes.

There is a comfort
that blesses lovers after
nearly sixty years.

They’re like old shoes, whose
leather has grown supple ‘cuz
they’re worn ev’ry day.

Only Love will last
beyond the moon and stars … so
keep your hand in mine.

Update:  I’m delighted to be able to say, Happy 60th Wedding Anniversary, to my cyber-friend, Ramona and her husband Edward!!  Here’s to many more to come!  Check out Ramona’s own words on the subject.
Nineteen fifty-six
brought us Princess Grace Kelly
and Elvis Presley.

The King of Rock, now long gone
The Princess long gone too … But

You and Edward are
still here and from those of us
who’ve never been wed …

Thanks for passing your
genes along and keeping the
earth populated.

It takes a lot of pressure
Off of us … know what I mean?

Storming the Bastille;
not something that you want to
lose your head over.

(Happy Bastille Day – July 14th!)

On the road of Life,
focus on what drives your heart,
not the car you’re in.


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An Unindicted, Unendorsed Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon


Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:

There the old man sat,
sullen as deaf dogs in church,
eyeing his grand-kids.






Dogs lie lazily,
on a Summer’s afternoon,
too hot to chase birds.



Hiding in shadows,
waiting for the sun to set,
and the moon to rise.







When we interact,
we acknowledge we are gears
in this God machine




A swarm of bees flit
about my head as I walk
through my neighbor’s yard.






Saunter through the woods
leaving all your cares behind
breathe in raw nature.









Moon behind the clouds,
dew forms on the meadow grass,
a whispered, “Goodnight!”





Having said his piece,
he waits for her reply, and
ponders the walk home.






Vacant apartment
Dust has settled everywhere.
Her spirit lingers.








In a quiet place
where no-one else was allowed,
he wrestled with doubt.







Swirling rain pelts me.
I dash for shelter under
a leafy oak tree.










The sun has risen,
The meadow’s long past the dew,
What’s keepin’ those cows?”




The persimmon tree,
bends just enough for me to
pluck some of its fruit.



Though fragile hearts need
whispered blessings, they also
need a steady hand.



double haiku:
This physical realm,
lets spiritual beings,
experience pain.

Live and you’ll know pain;
All lessons in Life derive
from this simple fact.





No one owns meaning
shades of interpretation
are rented, however.







Quietly they slept
in a field of bluebonnets;
his head in her lap.










Moody clouds roiled through
the dark sky o’er the harbor …
we gathered our things.







As he sat and thought
of his impact on the world,
the roof fell on him.





The ocean so vast,
and the waves so persistent …
I’ll swim tomorrow.

(Photograph courtesy Kristina Rebelo.)





a triple stand-up haiku:

Seriously, folks …
two analysts in the hall …
at least in theory.

All kidding aside,
Two analysts in the hall …
Study each other.

(rimshot, cymbal crash.)

Thank you very much
I’m here until Tuesday, try
the lemon chicken.



And then, a rainbow
swept across the darkened sky,
for the storm had ended.

(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)






Small town lament-ku:
 He was bred in Rye,
creamed in Milk River, and laughed
at in Ho-Ho-Kus.


Will you ever wake?
Or will you dream forever?
Will you ever know?




Compassion for those
that never got sick … Old age
will be quite a shock.







Mournful elegies
echoed through the cathedral
dear friend laid to rest.







Noises in the hall;
My neighbor drops their keys, then
curses their fingers.





Sometimes, the truth hurts.
Of course, truth be known, lying
can hurt just as much.



An old weathered rope,
hangs ’round a lonely fence-post,
purpose forgotten.









An old woman with
green hair … how is it her youth
never acquiesced?






A man on a bike
carelessly rides through the park
wearing suspenders.





In the morning light,
a sailboat on the Hudson,
moves as in a dream.





If you think Sinning
takes more work than being Good …
You’ve never been Good.






A convivial
conveyance of convenience …
convertible coupe.






tanka haiku:


The old weathered barn
still advertises Mail Pouch
chewing tobacco.

Irony? The old farmer
still dead – cancer of the gums.





Comfy and cozy
and wrapped in a patchwork quilt,
she sipped some hot soup.






Now is not the time?!
Now is ALWAYS the time!!
It’s the tense we’re stuck in.




Any given day,
swirling leaves will seem confused
by the winds of change.





I feel so alone.
I watch the tide come in and
think of yesterday.

(Photograph courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)










The way of the world-ku:
Aggravating man,
infuriating woman;
Act Three, they’re in love.




After the downpour,
the neon lights of Broadway
shimmered in puddles.







Sucker punched by thugs …
smooched by dames … he fires his gat …
(He thinks he’s Sam Spade.’)


Most Ala-Kazam,
Abra-Cadabra spells seem
to lack real magic.







At the sky’s edges,
mountaintops still pierce the clouds,
to peek at heaven.







The billowing sails,
The churning, white-capped waters,
grey skies at ebb tide.







There’s just Black or White
in a world of absolutes …
and thus, no rainbows.



The deepening blue
gently quiets golden waves.
Nightfall approaches.


(Photograph courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)





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