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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Singin’ the Blues on a Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon




Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:




An immortal soul
demands that you acknowledge
heaven gets crowded.







Slouched in a corner,
of a dingy juke joint, a
young man learns the blues.







Ducking down alleys
looking for a few close shaves
scored some Mary Jane.









You cheated, then lied,
Now you say that you’ll be good …
Which you should I trust?





Lord, keep me healthy,
gals in dirty dungarees,
start my rodeo …








Cold-hearted woman
on a hot Summer ev’ning,
loosens my collar.





tanka haiku:


Why do we suffer?
Does it purify the soul?
Is it bad karma?

Do pure souls ever suffer?
What if it’s all just random?”





Got up this mornin’,
I believe I dust my broom
You can wring my mop.






A knock at the door.
her face rings a bell  … My past
has caught up with me.







I like her paint job
and she’s got a stick shift, but …
too many drivers




My sweetheart wandered,
And made a fool out of me,
all my love in vain.








He beat out rhythms
on the edge of his guitar,
while his voice would scat.



Settin’ on my porch;
‘Why did my woman leave me?’
Sing those Whiskey Blues.






Feel so down and out,
I can’t deal with all the pain;
buried in the blues.









Soft hands on rough stone,
grasping for crevices, will
soon form calluses.







All things pass away,
And all relationships change,
We are in motion.








New England autumns,
The trees ablaze with colors,
A chill in the air.







All’s right with the world,
but I am still left-handed,
looking for scissors.









Pig’s feet and possum,
Mama serves them with some yams.
Down home country meal.










Lost my job today,
All my friends lost their jobs too …
The factory closed.









My red-haired woman,
wagged her finger, shook her hips,
taught me ways to love.







Anguished and in pain,
she never thought that her life
would end up like this.


Pies on windowsills
send aromas wafting through
the nearby schoolyard.



Ten, Jack, Queen, King … Four.
It’s time for Ted to go home.
Poker can be cruel.



Carol’s begonias
offer a coral contrast
to mom’s yellow mums.





She has a great smile;
it can send him to the moon.
So … he makes her laugh.






Walking in Spring rain,
past flowers being nourished
and snow drifts destroyed.








A nuanced answer’s
often misunderstood … or
picked apart by ‘friends.’


My baby left me,
all I do is sit and cry,
forlorn forever

Sitting on my porch,
watching the day going by,
Night time hide my tears.







I’m feelin’ homesick,
for the town where I was born,
Life was easy then.







Blistering come-backs
raced through his head, but all he
could say was, “Oh YEAH?!”




double haiku:

Oh, sweet saxophone,
play for me a most gentle
lullaby for Bird.

I passed his house on
Avenue B today and
muttered, “Too soon gone.”




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









 Now that I’m alone,
my mind will sit in corners
and think about you.



Got the pastel blues,
no spectacular failure,
just a shade away.


If you’re blue and want
to feel happy, listen to
Potato Head Blues.


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A Wind-Swept Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon




Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:


He buried his fear
in the pleats of mother’s skirt.
( … wiped his nose there too.)





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







Stubble on my chin
Clothes I’ve worn for two full days …
Still sick as a dog.







Who would have thought that
Diana, an Amazon,
likes to play with girls?

On the other hand,
where does that leave Steve Trevor?
(Still tied up in knots.)

She’ll lasso a lass,
while hauling ass … they’ll still say
she fights like a girl.



She has a smile,
That can send him to the moon,
So he makes her laugh.





What he missed the most,
was her passionate embrace;
it reassured him.







My heart’s on a train,
Heading for a distant town,
while I lie alone.





tanka haiku:


Can it really be?
It’s National Coffee Day!!
Do that Java Jive!!

   Brew Joe, don’t keep me waitin’
drip fast, stop percolatin’

(Thursday, Sept. 29 was National Coffee Day)



Forget yesterday.
Survive today and dream of
brighter tomorrows.







So, farewell to thee.
Thou has stayed beyond the Spring,
Now, the Sea beckons.




Sunday afternoon
we talked, and strolled through the park …
others rode horses.






A split rail fence was
respected in the old West.
But barbed wire helped.






In a small garden,
pansies patiently wait for
roses to be picked.






Once you discover,
You’re swimming in Illusions,
You can float upstream.









You can’t always get
what you want, but if you try,
you’ll get what you need.







There is a reason
for all things and that includes
orange-haired billionaires.



tanka haiku:

On a corner lot,
a two-story brick building
is all that remains.

    Glories of another time,
too soon reduced to rubble.







I carve spindles on
a swiftly turning lathe to
make new bannisters.






Foliage ablaze,
Vivid reds, orange, yellow!
Breathtaking beauty.








Slave to their iPhones,
Dead-eyed Zombies walk and talk,
And order lattes.




Swiftly flows my life,
days fly by before I know it,
the future is then








Will America
EVER learn from it’s mistakes?
I’m as mad as Hell …









Humid autumn night,
Too muggy for a blanket,
Too cold for A/C.







A pastel sunset,
occurs behind some buildings.
I wait for the bus.






That babe with the braids
and the tie-dyed mini-skirt?
That was your mother.








As dusk approaches,
Earth secretly conspires,
to bring back the light.








Now all that remains
are images in my head …
and her purple scarf.









Leaning up against,
A dilapidated shed,
a toothless old rake.






Moon behind the clouds,
fields aglow in bluish light,
sly foxes prowl.






The world keeps changing
old friends leave us or retire
Thanks to all. Godspeed.

(For Charles Osgood, David Ortiz and the late Arnold Palmer.)



tanka haiku:


You can not end the
persistence of suffering
only appease it.

    That it still will annoy us
is what gives us bright futures.






Is the potato
a metaphor … or a plant?
I bake for tubers.






It’s too warm to wear
sweaters and corduroy pants.
Damn, global warming!










Swirling embers rise,
riding a smoky breeze, then
die, and fall to earth










SNL returns
“Live from New York” again.
Generations laugh.








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







When busy swimming,
you don’t think about drowning.
So it is with Life.









triple haiku:


Consistency makes
unimaginative lives
seem less vacuous.

Consistent is not
a value, it’s an action.
(Erratic is too.)

Be bold when needed,
steady when necessary.
Embrace ups and downs.








Immortal souls that
live in mortal bodies … That’s
one of God’s jokes, right?






The blaze of Autumn
will soon start to wither and
gnarly winter bloom.






A quintet of haikus:
Under a pale sky,
a man in a hat, sits and
reads his newspaper.

As the daylight ebbs,
the man folds the newspaper,
gets up, and goes home.

In the dark of night,
he lies in bed and ponders
all that he has learned …

and when he awakes,
he gets up, finds his hat and
grabs his newspaper.

The mind’s the engine,
that drives our train of thought. We
must keep feeding it.






Autumn in New York,
leaves crackle underfoot as
I walk through the woods.







Sucker-punched by thugs,
smooched by dames, he fires his gat …
(His Life as film noir.)







The teacher threw a
book at the sleeping pupil.
Knowledge can hurt you.





We may never know
which winds blow thoughts through our minds
to swirl up our past.







Fragrant aromas
awaken sweet thoughts of you,
my long ago love.













The trees in our yard
are reluctant as children
to let Summer go.






 Jet vapor trails slice
through a Maxfield Parrish sky
of back-lit pink clouds.








If you choose to use
a magnifying glass, know
that you will find flaws










What night ships do you
sail upon? What adventures
find you in your dreams?








More later.






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Finally, a Finely Fried Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon



Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:
In that ‘long ago’,
all of us are ever young …
never more alive.

First, you find a place
to rest your weary soul, then
applaud your journey.

There is happiness
and when there’s happiness, it’s


Autumn at the beach;
looks like a picture postcard.
Vibrant hues, cool temps.


(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)






When uncertain, he
will look to you for guidance.
Offer steady hands.



(Photo courtesy Kristina Rebelo)






Ah, the autumn leaves,
that drift gently to the ground,
blanketing the lawn.





Pillow fights online …
debating philosophy …
both get you nowhere







Silhouettes of trees
turn my river view into
a jigsaw puzzle.


A quartet of haikus:


After all these years,
I still haunt the lost and found,
looking for my life.

I still ride the train,
in hope the next station will
be where I get off.

I cross bridges knowing
I can not wash away all
the sins of my life.

I am stuck in time
living out a meager life
extracting fool’s gold.




Walking the shoreline,
the fog envelopes me and
the ocean inspires.




Delicate flowers,
Battered by the wind and rain,
Petals on the ground.








Do you fight the wind?
Do you swim against the tide?
Worlds turn, why won’t you?









The leaves drifting down,
Make a carpet on the lawn,
For kids to romp through.





Sad when Summer ends,
and the school year starts anew …
said no mom ever.




Mother Nature sends
an eviction notice and
the foliage leaves.







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








When you are taken
out of your routine; rethink,
resolve, then re-set.




Geisha on a bridge,
watches the swans, then hurries
off to serve the tea.

Toy soldiers remain
lying in the lawn; battle
called due to bedtime.




There’s a twilight time
between dusk and eve’ning that
nurtures reflection.


tanka haiku:


Perusing the hall,
he picked out a girl and tried
to make eye contact.

At first, she acted shy … then,
she slowly … drew him to her.





To live without love
is to whisper to angels
and yet, be ignored.





Some people say that
Naked Gondoliers are what
made Venetians blind.





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







A doormat thrown in
the trashcan has probably
worn out its welcome.





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




The lush foliage
of autumn, clings to trees like
those dots of Seurat’s




Bleeding hearts mixed with
bloody ignorance will soon
need a transfusion.









 tanka haiku:

From the cab of his
pickup, he could see grey smoke
rise from the chimney.

It was nearly sunrise and
he could not wait for coffee.








We drove through the night
to see the fall foliage
mirrored in the lake.









a lonely road weaves
through a dark forest. My soul
tries not to linger.



If the sky is blue,
and the grass always greener,
more books should be read.







Won’t you have some tea?
I’ll sit here eating biscuits
watching boats pass by.


James Tissot (French, 1836–1902) | Tea | 1872









Collapsed in a heap,
and yet … she watches closely
as suitors stalk her.


“The Green Cushion” ca.1895 by Irving Ramsey Wiles (1861-1948)







His trousers are gone …
her dress hangs from a flagpole …
That was some party.


Do you wonder why
all day long, you walk on air?
My friend, you’re in Love.



A red moon rises
in the sky above D.C.
the Capitol gains.

A red moon will rise
o’er a House divided and
illuminate hope.



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A Deplorable/Adorable Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon


Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:




When I was little,
sitting in my parent’s car,
was an adventure.








Small traffic island
pedestrian oasis
‘midst a sea of cars.







He recalls fondly
how one rainy afternoon
they shared an awning.










Thoughts, planted wisely,
blossom in reluctant minds,
when the time is right.








Remember; Thousands
of things will go RIGHT for you,
ev’ry single day.







In Nantucket pubs,
Zithers and dulcimers play,
to pleasant drunkards.






A wren mocked a rose,
‘I can sing a song of love’,
The rose smiled, then bloomed.





A wind-swept plateau,
where the sky looms large, as in
a John Ford western.








Walking through meadows,
I gaze at distant fences,
and ask … what’s beyond?






tanka haiku:


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

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




In a musty barn,
a rotted wooden basket,
once held a harvest.






A hammer pounding,
driving nails into the wall,
hanging tranquil art.









A convent garden …
a devout mantis prays for








a haiku quartet:


The sidewalk peddler
earns his living lately in the
glow of the street lamp.

He can not go home
to Rivington Street ’til he
has sold all his fruit.

To each passersby
he offers a plum and smiles
when they do not buy.

the glow of the streetlight
enshrines persistence as he
continues hoping.



“Okay, let’s begin.
Insertez-vous tab A?!  Damn!
The plans are in FRENCH!”







We stacked the firewood
then trudged through the mud to the
hen-house to get eggs.










Lately, more strangers
that I meet on the street are
calling me, “Poppy.”













An empty vase sits
on a cluttered office desk
waiting for flowers.










Sadly, it seems while
June was pinching pennies, John
was pinching barmaids.





When you have a lot
that’s on your mind, let your day
begin quietly.





None shall ever know
private failures we endure …
unless we succeed.








Her vichyssoise was
so cold, the potatoes wore
jackets to keep warm.






Red veins on noses,
and whiskey-filled kittens?!! THESE
are your fav’rite things?





rain-soaked city streets,
the glare of flashing neon
blinds a private eye.




 tanka haiku:


A man with a limp
quietly whistles on his
way to the bus stop.

    His halting steps belie the
music he hears in his head.

Sometimes an echo
from a life you left behind,
catches up to you.




triple haiku:

I dream, I wish, I
want, hope and wait … then give up
and go back to sleep.

I dream, I wish, I
want, hope and wait … then give up
and go back to sleep.

I dream, I wish, I
want, hope and wait … then give up
and now I can’t sleep.

The glow of the moon,
Illuminates the stillness,
Of country meadows.






There is an old tree
that knows my heartaches and has
heard my confessions.



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.




While more coffee brews,
whisperings in the kitchen,
often burns the toast.




What you are drawn to,
has within it, the lesson
that you need to learn.

There are times when no
words will suffice, we just need
to look at flowers.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)



His hopes had been dashed,
his dreams all surrendered … The
tide pulls at his feet.


A thimble of gin
Is all I’m allowed these days,
my thumb’s a drunkard.





I put on my Keds,
and an old college sweatshirt …
It’s walking weather!




triple haiku:


I met a rabbit
in the glen one dewy morn,
we stared warily,

but neither of us
moved a muscle ’til we had
sized the other up.

and then I felt an
aimless breeze, wander past us,
and we went our ways.




She paused to reflect …
She had read this book 6 times …
Same ending each time.


Vincent van Gogh (1853–1890) –  L’Arlésienne: Madame Joseph-Michel Ginoux

Lonely blue highways,
asphalt to infinity.
No rear view mirror.




Coffee and crullers,
sitting on the dock, watching
the boats come and go.







Sometimes, I think back
to the heroes of my youth,
and just enjoy them.



More later.






Bonus poem – (Facebook keeps reminding me of poems I’ve written that I have forgotten about … )


A poem for Emily –

I’m adrift in damp depression
over moonbeams which don’t shine for me
each darkened night, my porch swing’s empty
and no-one sips my tea but me.

Gloom is an amber shadow,
which hides behind each flirting tree
and yet … in spite of all misgivings,
my violets still await the Spring.

And so, I can not help but wonder …
and while I’m wondering, I sing.

Now, I know my voice has gotten raspy
and my memory’s lost a thought or two,
but what I feel has sailed the oceans
and wrestled dragons (more than a few.).

my feelings scaled enormous mountains,
and engaged in many a daring fling

Still, I can not help but wonder
and while I’m wondering, I sing.

Hope, my friend, has perplexed many,
Emily says it’s a feathered thing,
But whether you’ve got much or you haven’t any,
my violets still await the Spring.


( Michael Tracy Smith – c 2012 )




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Autumn in Hiding on a Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon




Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:




A golden surfer
rides a quiet wave to shore
the world is at peace.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)





triple haiku:

A dark woods may rise
in the midst of your journey
do not be afraid.

We all must walk through
darkness at some point in life
hold on ’til the dawn.

For day will always
follow night, and the sun will
see you safely home.

 If the world’s a stage,
And people are all players,
who’s in charge of props?

My friend, D. Thompson:  Mother Nature’s boss,
And we are all just players,
Not nice to fool her.

My response: Poor Mother Nature,
like margarine or butter,
she’s spread way too thin.


Empty city streets,
faint sounds of music playing,
somewhere, a parade.



Three years ago, I came out of my building and noticed this tragic scene across the street.

It inspired this haiku:

A suicidal
watermelon’s a sure sign
that Summer’s over.



The last fifty years
will be known as the time when,
up was sold as down.




Without a kigo
is the fallen maple leaf
any less poignant?

(A kigo is a word or phrase used in traditional forms of haiku, to indicate the season referred to in the stanza.)

Belated Happy Labor Day!

haiku: Child Labor laws, and
Forty hour work weeks. Like ’em?
Thank the union folks.



Saturday morning,
biking to the bakery,
The smell of fresh bread.




Cool September night
A golden moon is shining o’er
the harvested fields

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)




As day turns to dusk,
neatly anchored sloops slowly
bob in the harbor.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)




Red-headed co-eds …
Ragtime on the radio …
Remnants of past lives.

Sticks of patchouli,
smoldered in his messy room,
his mom was incensed.



 tanka TV-ku:

Horizontal lines,
adjust the Vertical Hold,
play with Rabbit Ears.

TVs were simple once. Now,
you need to call Tech Support.

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


Autumn at the beach;
looks like a picture postcard.
Vibrant hues, cool temps.


Autumn arrives with
colorful foliage and
orchards to harvest.






Shimmering water,
Quietly fishing at dusk,
More solace than fish 





Back in my hometown,
I know what’s around the bend,
(Grins with affection)



Near the gazebo,
amidst the shrubs and bushes,
gladiolas bloom.




Frost on the pumpkin?
Another old saying killed,
By global warming.






My mom always had,
gum hidden in her purse, to
shut me up in church.



If you think “Life Stinks”,
You’re wrong. Life is fine. It is
Consciousness that stinks.

We started even,
but we can’t say who won; we
had diff’rent goal-lines.


A stone partition
does not stop my neighbor’s dog
from barking at me.”


In a garden lost,
overgrown with grass and weeds,
peonies still bloom.



His steps are cautious,
He’s nervous and unsteady,
First day back to work.


tanka haiku:


As we approach Fall,
We anticipate Winter,
And the Spring to come.

Our lives are like the seasons,
And what matters? How we turn.


When the couch was moved,
some keepsakes from long ago
were re-discovered.


Lost in thought today,
trying to assess my life.
No easy fixes.”




You can spend your time,
Avoiding calamities,
But what fun is that?





Azure blue larkspur,
Delicate and beautiful,
Whispers to the soul.


Garnish your burger;
cheese, lettuce and onions. Feel
Fickle? Add pickle.”


The years went by and
his hold on her grew smaller
as he rode away.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)




Old photos beguile
Was I ever that happy?
Years have weighed heavy.

An old friend whom I haven’t seen in many years, emailed me these photos yesterday.  He took them around 1976 or so.  I had forgotten leisure suits … and don’t recall ever smiling that happily …not while having my picture taken anyway.  )





He said to her, “I’ve
got love for you, can’t you see?”
Sadly, she couldn’t.






Open up your heart,
To ev’rything you witness,
The Show is for you.






This, I believe’s a
sign of the Apocalypse;
Earl Grey in a can.

Old telephone prank updated:  “Hello. Do you have Earl Grey in a can? You do? Well let the poor b*st*rd out, he must be suffocating!!” (hang up.)




Boldly going where
No one had gone before;
The final frontier.

Sept. 8, 1966, the world changed forever with the first airing of Star Trek. Happy 50th Birthday, Star Trek!! Live long and prosper!





And finally, a belated happy would-have-been 80th birthday to Rock n’ Roller, Buddy Holly.

When credit’s given
where credit’s due, well, Buddy …
that’ll be the day.






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