A Decently December Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon




Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:

And so it begins;
the cold month that ends each year.
Be mild, December.


Silhouetted sunsets;
barren trees plead for fruit on
snowy coastal dunes.


(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo.)





What do small boys think
when they play at being men?
“Hope mom made my lunch …”






The snow on the fence,
looks like the mashed potatoes
on my dinner plate.






Triptych Access-a-Ride #1 – Brooklyn Bridge


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






Triptych Access-a-Ride #2 – Lower West Side Manhattan


I so look forward
to viewing each sunset from
the West Side Highway





Almost unnoticed
amidst the tangled branches;
a limp ‘Old Glory’.




What we wouldn’t give
to know what lies ahead; To
see the big picture.





A rainy eve’ning
riding up First Avenue;
the U.N. floats by.






Shadows of the trees
play upon the outer walls
pretending they’re fierce.


( Corfu Lights and Shadows (1909)  by John Singer Sargent )



Here’s my guess as to
what poor Sandy’s thinking; “Help!
I’m in ‘Groundhog Day!'”



 I dream of sane things,
Wake and deal with illusions.
Something is mixed up.





Little matchstick doll
kept in a child’s pocket
may yet light things up.





Boy Scouts camping out,
Lovers caught in passion’s throes,
Neither needs matches.


Brick through my window,
a cat on a hot tin roof,
Life in Tennessee.


No one at the door,
alone for the holidays
lots of left-overs.





Do not turn that knob,
or fiddle with the settings,
I LIKE it this way!





Though I meander
through lush fields and forests, I
will find my way home.


A dagger as sharp
as a lover’s rebuke has
not, as yet, been made.




Wishing for Santa.
Feeling disappointed … again.
Wishing for Santa.




On a cold, clear morn,
a church in the distance is
framed by the bare trees.






Happiness is not
a station you arrive at,
it’s the train you’re on.




Winter reminder-ku:


Though snow has fallen,
remember, it has fallen
but it can’t get up.







The two legged things
sit on the four legged things
then run in circles?!


(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)






Quietly, she drifts
wasting Summer afternoons
waiting and hoping


“Ostende” by British landscape painter J.M.W. Turner (1844)



Xmas Swing – One of my musical faves … Duke Ellington’s version of The Nutcracker Suite.  This is just the overture … You can find each cut of this album posted separately on Youtube … it’s well worth the listen.




And finally … Of all the lines I have ever written, it seems to me that the one that is the most often repeated is one that I came up with many years ago for the SAA: “AS is more common than Multiple Sclerosis (MS), Cystic Fibrosis (CF) and Lou Gehrig’s disease (ALS) combined … ” I’ve seen that line used in videos and in publicity material and all over social media when people try to explain AS and how it’s not really a rare disease at all.   Here’s a new video that the SAA just released that includes the line.  






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Another Thankful Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon



Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:




Through an iron fence,
I watch autumn leaves fall on
empty park benches.



Softly, the wind blows,
Swirling leaves circle my feet,
Autumn in my thoughts.








Viral video,
The worst moment of your life …
Our laugh of the day.







When do hab a code
dere isn’t much do tan do
‘cept sniffle and sneeze.








A half a’ sandwich
in a plain brown paper bag
can give a child hope.



Kind of a slow day,
a day to eat heartily,
it’s too slow to fast.






Baby, it’s too cold
to go out without a coat …
better bundle up




As I drove away,
to start my life anew, I
still thought about you.







a haiku septet:


Whenever I think
of my friend, Dick and his ducks,
my mind imagines,

a small pond, a bench,
and a quiet afternoon
framed by Autumn leaves.

Dick tosses bread crumbs,
happy ducks quack their thanks and
offer sage advice.

Dick listens, and nods
and whispers some further thoughts
on combing feathers.

The breeze picks up and
Dick soon runs out of bread crumbs,
the old ducks linger

The younger wander
in search of new adventures
the old know their friend,

and like spending time,
together, simply being …
Dick and ducks … divine.

(Thanks for all your support over the years, DD!)





The day must leave us …
we must rest to prepare for
the struggles to come.

(Photograph courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)







And so, we gather
to rejoice and to give thanks
for we are so blessed.


Let each turkey slice
and wedge of mom’s pumpkin pie,
demonstrate our thanks.

Mash the potatoes,
baste the turkey, eat some pie,
then take a long nap.







 tanka haiku:



Yes, you know my heart,
For we are kindred spirits,
Walking the same path.

  But stay wary, my friend, for
Paths, like lover’s hearts, may turn.





When you look at Life
from diff’rent angles, points of
view turn upside down.


(Photograph courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)







A tiny sparrow
is chased by a feisty pup
pulling a young girl.





tanka haiku:


My tenth great grand-dad
was at that first thanksgiving …
I imagine him

saying the turkey was fowl
and the yams needed more salt.






Maples, elms and oaks
burst with yellow, red and orange;
the forest ablaze!









Footprints on the beach …
When I could not go on, God
drove me in his jeep.



(Photograph courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)










There are mysteries
which will never be solved; their
answers lost in time.



(Found in a box of family photos, this ancestor of mine may remain forever unknown, as all the people who might have been able to identify him have passed away.)








Dispositions change.
mindsets frequently evolve.
never burn a bridge.






Atop her dresser,
a spray of dried hydrangeas,
elegant decay.








A huge tree limb falls,
In the middle of my yard …
I see, then I saw.

As a precaution,
he wrapped his arms around her,
then shared the sad news.








Lunch with an old friend;
laughter at shared history,
tears for tomorrow.






He once walked three miles
through the wind and pouring rain
just to see her smile.







Vows freely given
re-affirm a world of hope
with promises kept.







Dogs that climb fences,
often discover too late,
they’ve nowhere to go.





A yellow post-it
pasted on the scaffolding …
“Soft heads need hard hats.”





Most mental issues
are of our own making. We’re
lost in our own maze.








Hey! Stop nudging me!
I’ll get up in a minute …
Hit the snooze alarm.










When I’m all alone,
in my mind and in my heart,
you reverberate.











A November frost,
withered pumpkins on the vine,
squirrels exhaling steam.







In the pouring rain,
you give me some plastic which
I wore like a hat.






Drinking a beer and
playin’ the five string banjo
or, at least, trying


(For my friend and fellow Spondy, Sean Ryder, a scientist, a teacher and a musician.  Sean lives in Worcester, MA and is part of the folk music scene there.  He has a beautiful wife and two great kids.  P.S. Don’t tell him, but he is one of my heroes.  Here’s an example of his music … P.P.S.  As far as I know, his musical partner and I are unrelated.   )


Nowhere you can hide
no one that doesn’t know, you’re
living small town blue.







Don’t ever despair,
when things aren’t going your way,
Morning will arrive.




I am taking next week off, so a Happy Thanksgiving to all my friends!! 

See you in two weeks!!


















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A New Beginning on a Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon


Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:




On the eleventh
Month, day and hour – at long last,
the guns fell silent.



(Pictured: The Spondyville mascot, Stiffy the Snowspondy, visiting the Anglo-Belgian War Memorial in Brussels a few years back, to pay tribute to all the fallen heroes of WWI.)








haiku: Jamaican cabbie
tells me his philosophy;
“no matter, birds sing.”








So long, Marianne,
It’s time that we began to
cry laugh about it all.

Leonard Cohen RIP









A half a’ sandwich
in a plain brown paper bag
can give a child hope.








Her touch was so soft,
her gaze so encouraging,
his heart filled with joy.









They say that I am
hopelessly optimistic …
I just hope they’re right.









In a nursing home,
The youth of sweet yesterdays,
Wait for tomorrow.









It’s instrumental;
We elected a bassoon.
Oboe, that’s treble.









haiku quintet:


My heart will still ache,
my head will carry sadness,
my happiness end.

the world no longer
will inspire the birds to sing
or dogs to love you.

old chairs will fail you
they will throw you to the floor
life will spit on you

The fundamental
notion of the universe
has been disrupted.

and all we can do
is to absorb the shock and just
keep moving forward.






tanka haiku:

Why is losing good?
It’s an opportunity
to re-think your plans.

    No defeat lasts forever,
no victory ends your quest.







The clouds in the sky
are drifting by … lazily
I sit and watch them.







The Past rejoices
Our clocks have all fallen back
The future delayed







Don’t feel discouraged
when your back’s against the wall …
you’ve found some support.









Scarlett’s quiet quip,
‘Got kudzu up the wazoo’,
made Rhett Butler laugh.







He’s considered dull,
just muddling through Life, yet
his heart slays dragons.






Autumn in New York,
leaves crackle underfoot as
I stroll through the park.






Tower of London;
where you can find graffiti
that pre-dates ‘Banksy.’






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.



(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)







You know tain’t right to
treat me like you do … It’s a
lowdown cryin’ shame.









The dark before dawn;
lonely hearts beat quicker in











The one thing we do
that’s as powerful as Love
is … that we Forgive.








Ah, consistency …
It’s not just over-rated,
it’s the same old stuff.








In Autumn’s dotage,
death’s a gentler tiger,
greeted with a grin.









He strolled along the
back roads, with his mandolin,
singin’ for supper.












She smiled at me and
for one brief moment we both
felt the world was safe.










We shall persevere
and rise again tomorrow
to tend our gardens.







Repudiate all
reasons that keep us fighting.
Let us heal our hearts.





tanka haiku:



There’s no growth from pain.
Growth comes from a willingness
to endure the pain …

 … as the cost of each lesson.
Otherwise, it’s just suffering.







double haiku:


While they were still young,
the world seemed full of promise,
then … we went to war.

Soon, the fighting would
be shaking optimism
out of people’s hearts.

(My parents in early 1942, a few months after they married.)







A new moon will shine
on an old village square, and
make a piazza.





 Do not weep all night
then wonder why each day seems
so full of teardrops.







An incoming tide,
coral clouds at sunrise … all
our Hopes are reborn.




 A haiku cycle in 4 parts:



The promise of youth
may be mere speculation,
but it’s all I’ve got.


The promise of youth
it had to be postponed, but
it will be fulfilled.


The promise of youth;
a lie, a sham, a fraud … but
it kept me going.



Without promise or
any fanfare, a writer
completes his novel.






All things have endings
and a natural timeline
regret not the end

for new beginnings
will always follow along
to start things over.

 Whatever ends will
begin again; our journey
is but a circle.





Put your burden down
let your worries melt away
it is sleepy time.



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A Nearly Saturday Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon


(Hi.  Sorry for the lateness of this posting.  Two reasons;  1) I severely sprained my forearm on Monday morning while getting ready to go to work.  I was pushing down on some garbage and put my weight on my right arm and suddenly heard a loud snap and had a lot of pain in my right forearm.  I could barefly finish getting dressed, so I called 911 for an ambulance and went to the ER.  The took x-rays and 6 hours later decided, there was no break in my arm,but that I had severely sprained it.  They gave me a couple of Vicodins and a wrist brace and send me home, which was a bit of a struggle since in the rush to get to the ER I had only taken one of my canes. I normally use two for balance.  Anyway, since I put my weight on my arm every time I walk, I was not a happy camper.  I stayed home from work for a couple days to let the arm heal, but, it’s still painful and annoying.  I went back to work today, but am moving very slowly and deliberately and everything was taking twice as long as normal.  2) The second reason is that photobucket, where I upload all the photos that I use for my postings has been having technical problems and has been closed for maintenance again all day today.  So, I am posting a smaller number of haikus than normal and they are without photos. )  Hopefully, things will straighten out during the next day or two and I can post the images that go with the haikus.  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.)


Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:

If you need a laugh,
ask a child what adults say
when they’re whispering.

If you syncopate
a fascinatin’ rhythm,
will you strike a chord?

Those being drenched do
not think of how they may
be blessed by the storm.

Autumn leaves are strewn
across a quiet sidewalk …
‘rose petals’ for dogs.

There’s an urge within
that tells us; go to the sea,
make peace with the tides.

double haiku:

Ev’ning winds whisper
of wolves that lurk in shadows
as I pitch my tent.

Quietly, Sunrise
From my sleeping bag I stare
at dew on the grass.

Walking to her job,
she never seems to smile,
but oh, Friday nights …

As he walked away,
he thought about what she said.
The truth of it hurt.

The more I listen,
the more I understand and
less I know ‘for sure.’

double haiku:

May all souls be blessed,
past transgressions forgiven,
the sick comforted.

haiku: They spent All Souls Day,
still stuck in Purgatory.
Heaven help them … please.

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.

The fabric of Life,
from order to chaos,
slowly unravels.

Seldom will you see
a second thought that dances
in the morning breeze.

Dad just discovered
the marble his son had lost …
Quite a somersault.

Above an old pub,
a performance space attracts
eager young actors.

Late one afternoon
gunslingers rode into town
the sheriff drew first.




Her sharp tongue belied
a sad insecurity
when it came to love.


Deserted bus stop
on a Friday afternoon
I count the taxis.
You must cover stops
to start the music,  take your
piccolo and blow.

His tortured soul found
small measures of contentment
just beyond its reach.
When she walked away,
I brought my hands to my face,
to hold in my dreams.

If you want the world
to be your oyster, it helps
to know how to shuck.




This weekend, Spondyville’s town handyman, Throckmorton “Pops” DeMaupassant, will once again climb the rickety ladder to the tower high atop the Spondyvile Town Hall and re-set the town clock, which marks the official end of Daylight Savings Time in Spondyville for another year.

As always, a small crowd will gather across the street in Ankylosinger Square to watch “Pops” perform his task at 2AM on Sunday morning. This loyal group of Spondyville residents will yell encouragement and remind “Pops” to “Fall Back!” (This vocal “reminder” was deemed necessary after the year 2001 incident, when “Pops” mistakenly set the clock forward in the fall and back in the spring, thus confusing everyone for the entire year.)

Tragedy was, once again, averted last year, when “Pops” again set the clock forward one hour instead of back. The crowd yelled up to him, “Fall Back, Fall Back!!”, but “Pops”, who had come straight from an all-day “Simon Sez” session over at the Senior Center, had a flashback to earlier in the afternoon, and proceeded to ‘fall back’ off of the ladder. Fortunately, he grabbed the hands of the clock as he fell, which re-set the clock to the proper time. He then had the good sense to hold on until the local EMS unit arrived to pry his hands off the clock and take him to the ER for observation. (Where one doctor looked at him, rolled his eyes, threw up his hands and sent him home … But never mind that.)

Hopefully, this weekend, “Pops” will once again remember that the yelling of the crowd refers to what he is supposed to do with the clock and not what to do while on the ladder.

As per tradition, “Pops” will perform his task while wearing his purple plaid beret, and uttering his now famous slogan, “An hour saved is a minute earned sixty times.”

In a concession to the reality that “Pops” just MIGHT be getting a little too old for this job, he has agreed to begin training his future replacement. Todd Tripzen-Stumbles, a recent graduate of Spondyville High School for the non-performing arts, who will offer his assistance, if needed, and hold the ladder for “Pops”.

For the “100 percenters” in the crowd, (Spondyvilleans who are totally fused in the neck and spine), there are, of course, prism binoculars available, donated by the Marie Strumpell Charitable Foundation. Coffee and crullers will be provided for all by the adjacent Spondy Cafe. Officer Floyd Crimp (aka ‘Officer Crimp, the Cop with a limp.’), asks all residents of Spondyville to make sure they toss their uneaten donuts into the “Crullers for Coppers” barrel outside the post office, AND remember to set YOUR clocks back one hour on Saturday night.


This month, HBO will be showing a documentary about my former neighbor, photographer, Tony Vaccaro. Tony was the nephew of my then landlord, Giuseppe, when I lived in Long Island City. Tony lived across the hall from Giuseppe on the first floor of a three story walk-up. I lived on right half of the 3rd floor. Tony had been a photographer for Look magazine in the Fifties, and took a number of now iconic photos, but before that he was a soldier in WW2, who also took lots of photographs. Tony is 93 now and finally beginning to get the recognition in America that he deserves. Check out the documentary when it plays on HBO.

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A Ghastly, Ghostly, Very Scary Friday Afternoon at The Haikulodeon





Here’s this week’s headless heap of horrifying haikus:




Frankenstein’s Monster
pursued by an angry mob
“Alive, Alive, NO!”




Dancing skeletons
cemeteries at midnight
grave doings indeed.



If you’re wondering,
‘Are there rules for happenstance?’,
Roll the dice and see.



Because you are the
coolest little monster that
put the spook on me.


(Rest in Peace, TV Horror Host John Zacherle aka Zacherley, The Cool Ghoul, who passed away earlier today at the age of 98.)

Bonus Zacherley:  



(Ding-Dong!)  Trick or Treat!!
“Who are YOU supposed to be?!”
(Candy dropped in bags.)





 Life is but a dream,
and in dying we awake
un-departed souls



The divide between
life and death now weakened, the
dead walk among us.

An ode to Autumn:
midst the dead and dying, lies
hope for the future.

( Photograph courtesy of my neighbor and friend, Libby Kessman.)

Carving pumpkins? Yuck.
Giving ‘treats’ to neighbor kids?  …
Who needs Halloween?




Creaky door opens …
two bony hands emerge and
grab her by the throat!!



They spent All Souls Day,
still stuck in Purgatory.
Heaven help them … please.




Bags full of candy,
(‘Goodies’ gleaned on Halloween),
Seldom last a week.


Sibling rivalries
turn bitter when it comes to
Halloween candy.




At the O.K. Corral,
The Clantons found living in
Tombstone was over.

(This week in 1881:  The Gunfight at the OK Corral. )



I heard that he whored
a herd in a hoard, which ain’t
hard for hordes to hear.



tanka haiku:

Sometimes while sleeping
I visit alternate worlds
to try other lives.

I often wake with a start,
but seldom with a Finish.

(Alternate last line:  but seldom with a Finnish.)



Just because you’re dead,
doesn’t mean you can’t be chic.
This is Haunt Couture …

(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)



She wore gingham and
polka dot dresses, which made
her seem cartoon-ish.


In the corner sat
a haunted piano, which
played only lost chords.




Happy is the heart
that varies not in knowing
nor has a need to.


A crescent kite pulls
a water skier o’er an
autumn lake at dusk.

(Photograph copyright Kristina Rebelo)


For All Souls Day:

May all souls be blessed,
past transgressions forgiven,
the sick comforted.


The gloom of the sky,
matched the grey river waters,
infinity flowed …




Loosen our lessons?
That would not be smart, we should
keep what we’re taught, taut.



Weary troubadour,
guitar slung across his back,
hitchhiking highways.



As the sun gets low,
skies turn ochre and birds search
for their ev’ning roost.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)


In an oblong tin,
he kept his oolong tea … A
thin tin type tea tin.


I love the keemun
slowly steeping in my cup
hao ya like my tea?


Defiant elm trees,
In the front of my backyard,
Still resist Autumn.



Pumpkins of all creeds
want tolerance when playing
Squash on Halloween.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)



In the pouring rain,
I noticed she stopped to watch
some children playing.


(Union Square in the Rain” (1890) by American impressionist Frederick Childe Hassam)




Sitting on the curb,
Half a cup of coffee waits,
Its drinker, long gone.




Late afternoons, the
sun shines through the foliage;
leaves become stained glass.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)


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

(Photos courtesy Kristina Rebelo)






“Buy thin spaghetti”,
my mom used to say. Why’s that?
“Because you get more.”

(Unknown location, 1945. Photo by Ida Wyman.)



Sleep, sweet little baby,
Mommy watches over you,
Through the darkest night.

Sleep, sweet little baby,
though goblins watch over you,
Through this darkest night.


I’m in the doghouse,
What I did, I do not know,
But please, forgive me.



When you get angry,
bulging veins on your forehead,
grab my attention.





Rivulets of rain,
run down the parked car’s windshield,
dead wipers just watch.




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An Autumnal Frost on a Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon




Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:






An Autumnal frost,
withered pumpkins on the vine,
squirrels breathing steam.




(I really like this one, so I re-worked it a bit and decided to post it again.)


double haiku:


A wooden dock on
the edge of a shallow lake
waiting for its boat.

low clouds fill the sky,
all journeys begin with hope
wood wharf seeks closure.


(Photo courtesy of Ramona Grigg.)





Global warming proof?
Using air conditioner
on Halloween night.





All fields have a fence.
All lives have a purpose; You
need to build a fence.





There is a structure
to ev’rything, and context
to fence it all in.





Autumn’s subtle breeze,
Whispers past you as you wait,
For the crosstown bus.







Maples, elms and oaks
burst with yellow, red and orange;
the forest ablaze!


(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)






As the earth prepares
to take its winter snooze, the
foliage blushes.


(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)







Be gentle, be kind,
be as the marsh grass; merely
seek to know the sky.


(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)






Slicing ‘cross the beach,
Snow fences anticipate
Winter’s invasion.


(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)








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


(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)





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.)





In the pouring rain,
her friend gave her some plastic,
“Wear it like a hat …”





Rain-splattered windshield.
mono-chromatic Seurat;
dappled drops on glass.








Down a country road,
he let his horse lead him home
while his mind wandered.



The limits of our
tolerance are the true strengths
of any friendship.





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







New York’s confusing,
Order regular coffee,
And milk’s put in it.








On some distant shore,
A time long ago, we were,
Our ancestor’s dream.





Sitting in my yard,
watching the moon peeking out,
from behind storm clouds.








Politicians don’t
always tell the truth, but they’ll
always lie like rugs.







As I get older
though I see nothing’s changed, I’d
do it all again.






Running for Office
may force me to admit that
I believe in things.



( “I Believe” from the musical, The Book of Mormon.)




Walking down the street
I’m inspired by reflections
of America.



( Photo taken with my cell phone the other day on West 107th St. in NYC.  )


haiku trio:


tabula rasa;
hard times and great adventures
fill Life’s lesson plans.

hitting reset may
wipe the slate completely clean,
but it’s still a slate.

What we come to know …
All are created equal
then, we choose to learn.



Societal ills;
Do you blame those above or
those that are below?







If you pose questions
but don’t really want answers …
your goal’s not knowledge.







The look in her eyes
was enough to melt his heart …
and his tupperware.









An island sunset,
A sky aglow with passion,
Why aren’t you with me?





Up against the wall
she’s haunted by images
tattered and tawdry


(Photo courtesy of me.  I took it in Oklahoma City in 1972.  Since then,the wall’s been torn down, the girl and I broke up, she got married, had 5 kids and is now a successful artist and  grandmother.   I left the camera in a NYC taxicab about 30 years ago.  Only memories, and this photo, remain to keep things as they were.)




Where depressed gourmands,
can go to end it all; The
Terminal Diner.

Dreary afternoons,
cooped up in her office … she
dreams of escaping.

The stack of papers,
suddenly flew ’round the room!
Please close the window!

Carefully stepping,
over gaping potholes is,
adventurous living.


Docile delinquents,
doing downers daily, don’t
despair dumb details.

He nervously waits,
as doctors study his chart,
Get well soon? Yeah, right.

A keyboard left on,
a cat that loves to jump up,
Youtube fame awaits.


When daffodils bloom,
near the edge of your garden,
passers-by may pluck.


The problem, it seems
is my old mirror. It needs
younger reflections.



And finally,



Rock n’ roll would not
be worth a sniff, without old
Chuck B.’s guitar riffs.

(Happy 90th birthday this week to rock n’ roll pioneer, Chuck Berry!)


Also:  Happy 91st birthday this week to actress Angela Lansbury.

My Angela Lansbury anecdote: … The first Christmas I lived here in NYC was 1974 and Angela Lansbury was appearing on Broadway in a revival of Gypsy. I got a Christmas job selling glassware at Bloomingdales. One day, Angela Lansbury walked by my station and went to the gift wrap counter. A few moments later, she quickly walked past me again. I looked at one of the girls working at the gift wrap counter and she could barely contain herself. I asked her what happened, and she said that Angela Lansbury went up to the counter to get her gift wrapped and the old woman at the counter looked at her, gasped and shouted, “Oh my God, it’s Elsa Lanchester!!” The girl said Angela Lansbury appeared to be a bit startled at first, but then started laughing so much and trying to hold it in so as not to embarrass the old woman, that she had to turn and walk quickly to another gift wrap counter on the other side of the floor.




P.S.  Seen recently in the comments section of a political website: “Hillary is not liked or popular like Obama was and neither did he have a criminal record. You might as well face it, Hillary is destined to lose big time by a wide margarine.”   

Butter get used to it.  😉





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Good Grief, It’s Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon!






(This month marks the 66th anniversary of the start of the Peanuts comic strip.  I was born just about two months after Peanuts’ debut.  Peanuts helped me to learn to read and to understand the world.  It made me laugh and feel at a very young age.  Charles Schulz’s gentle world is one that I will always treasure, especially at this moment in time, when everything seems so crass, vile and angry.)


Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:
tanka haiku:


Good Old Charlie Brown …
he can never fly a kite
or kick a football

His baseball team may not win,
but he never stops trying.



A single dead leaf,
floating down to the sidewalk,
makes memories bloom.






Down a garden path,
leading to a wooden bench,
I find solitude.





Folded up and kept
in an old wallet, was her
late husband’s love note.




Cunning conundrums,
thoroughly mixed metaphors …
twisted conclusions.




Willows in the wind,
gently swaying back and forth,
like sleepy dancers.



We sat and watched a
Law and Order Marathon …
All day long … “CHA-CHUNG!”


The sky’s blue as I
picked blueberries in bluejeans …
Why am I so blue?



Much flapping of wings,
pigeons on my window sill,
I tap on the glass.


A stalking kitten,
emboldened by sleeping prey,
pounces on some yarn.




The Autumn winds blow,
swirling leaves seem quite confused,
as to where to go.






Silly Ogden Nash homage-ku:


Shoes need cobblin’
that’s why he’s hobblin’, (and
sadly), sobblin’ …






tanka haiku:


She found some paper,
then opened her crayon box
and began to draw.

    She scribbled wildly, then
in big letters, signed her name.


Sally Brown likes her
older brother, but Linus
is her ‘sweet baboo.’

(Kristen Chenowith as Sally Brown on Broadway in the 1999 revival of “You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown”)






tanka haiku:



My grandpa did not
like keeping the parlor neat …
which drove grandma nuts.

Not without effort, per se,
they kept their relationship.




Fact: Kids destroy things
In a haunted house, they’ll kick
away the cobwebs.  




Interviewing me?
“Never quote my spoken word.”
said the Senator.




At Heaven’s gate, will
Saint Peter use Saltpeter,
on Trump’s libido?







Pity poor Pig-pen,
whirlwinds of dirt swirl ’round him,
though he’s unaware.






Linus always keeps
his security blanket
within easy reach.




Schroeder’s piano
has black keys just painted on …
yet plays Beethoven.






tanka haiku:


Good Old Charlie Brown
never wins a baseball game
or kicks a football

He can’t get a kite to fly
Yet … he’s still out there trying.





tanka haiku:
She’s a fuss-budget
gives psychiatric advice
for just a nickel

Neurotic and self-centered
Lucy’s in love with Schroeder.








Did you ever look,
Through a small knothole and see,
A whole diff’rent world?





Those tiny brushstrokes,
Don’t really amount to much,
Until you step back.


Napping on sofas,
barking at the mailman,
the life of my dog.

Posing as ‘Joe Cool’,
Flying a Sopwith Camel
Red Baron dogfights

While both are beagles, my dog’s
a cat compared to Snoopy.






Bonus poems … In honor of this week’s World Arthritis Day, here’s three old poems I wrote about having an arthritic disease.


“The Lethargy Waltz”

Where has it gone, that youthful rambunction,
It seems nowadays you can just barely function,
Your chronic fatigue makes you want to say “screw it”,
There’s much to be done but you’re too tired to do it,
You’ve tried all the NSAIDS and even some gold salts,
But you just keep dancing to that old Lethargy Waltz,

Slogging through mud,
Feeling like crud,
You’re lethargic.
Stiffly you move,
as if stuck in a groove,
You’re lethargic.

You once did it all,
You felt you were Super,
Now you careen around in a stupor,
You can’t fall asleep though it’s way past eleven,
You doze off at six, but have to get up at seven.

Slogging through mud,
Feeling like crud,
You’re lethargic.
Stiffly you move,
As if stuck in a groove,
You’re lethargic.


“New Age Believer”

I believe that everything I read is true,
What the internet tells me to believe, I do,

I think there are miracle cures galore,
That I can easily find in the health food store,

And there are age-old secrets found in ancient lore,
Which we modern people should not ignore,

These secrets heal the sick and reveal once more,
The ancient secrets of our meta-physical core,

therefore …

I shout in defiance,
“Screw Medical Science!”

Those moron docs of Rheumatology,
All operate under the fallacy,

That the only way to cure all my ills,
Is to shovel me full of little pills,

The only thing worse than a gypsy’s hex,
Is all the awful pills’ side effects,

And the bodily functions that the side effects wrecks

Therefore …

 I scream with some wrath,
“Where’s a Homeopath!?”

I know I’m being somewhat facetious,
Most arguments against science are silly and specious,

I’m just so … damned frustrated … and in a great deal of pain
I’d rather something work than have to explain.
Still it’s better to take something based on what someone said
than to have someone tell you, it’s all in your head.

“We Will Slog Through”

When Rheumys and family all are agreeing,
Painful and Difficult’s our ground of being,
Y’know lesser folks might shout, “Enough!”
When the going really gets rough,
But a Spondy’s made of much sterner stuff,
Somehow, we vow, with iron wills,
To keep on marching up those hills,
And not give in to ‘being ill’,
We’ll wake each day,
so we can say, that, still,
we will, slog through.

When you’re stuck in molasses,
With an ache in your chassis,
And you feel like Life has betrayed you,
Don’t let a pain in the butt,
Keep you stuck in a rut,
Or the joys of this Life will evade you.

You need to,
Live each day, and keep sloggin’
Drum that into your noggin,
(I know it’s nothing new),

Keep at it, or you’ve had it,
Though you feel like you’ve been through the mill,
Trust, you will, slog through.

When people come ask, “How ya doin?”,
And y’know if you tell them,
their whole day you’ll ruin,
But like when it rains and you can’t get any wetter,
They’ll take it in stride, if you shout, “Never better!”

Now, what can you do when you’re stuck in a bog,
In the midst of the fog and dew?

That’s right, you just,
yes, you must,
You just, you must, slog through.




I’ll add more haikus later.  Check back.





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