Archive # 16

 

He’s very Lucky;
he married her before she
found out that he snored.

 

 
A tall glass of milk
left on the radiator
lets you know it’s there.
 
 
 
Reading comic books
and playing travel bingo
got them to Grandma’s.
 
 

 

tanka haiku: A marionette,
still dangled from the door-jam,
but it danced no more.
   The room remained as it was,
   Until both his parents died.
 
 

 

She spoke to Santa,
(Confidentially, of course),
“Please bring my mom joy.”
 
 

 

tanka haiku: A brick, painted white,
the word “Noel” pasted on,
3rd grade art project,
   Made by my sis long ago
   Kept all these years by my mom.
 
 

 

tanka haiku: God, aren’t you watching?
Can’t you see the mess we’re in?
Okay, stop laughing.
   I know You gave us free will.
   (We don’t know how to use it.)
 
 

 

I’ve got a stack of
old L. L. Bean catalogs
I need to throw out.
 
 
We all have angels,
both real and ethereal.
Cherish all of them.
 

 

An oak balustrade
framed the staircase as it poured
into the foyer
 
 
 
I woke up and laughed.
‘It’s gonna be a great day.’
Where’s my birthday cake?
 

 

So it’s my birthday.
I’m older I admit, but
I’m still young at heart.
 
 

 

history repeats,
because most people forget;
Plant perennials.
 
 
When there’s a crisis,
there are no distractions, just
things to do later.
 
 
She wore a flower,
neatly placed behind her ear,
then, she danced for him.

 

 
tanka haiku (for Genghis):
 
They took a stand; threw
turpentine on the gilding.
Restored our country.
   Teddy Roosevelt proposed,
   La Follette-Taft got it done.
 

 

 
As you get older,
perspectives change; trivial
matters fall away.
 
 
Being unemployed
will lighten your wallet and
darken your outlook.

 

 
Eighteen coffee cups
cluttering the countertop;
broken dishwasher.
 
 
 
Flying by the seat
of one’s pants sounds like fun, but
when landing, heads up!

 

 
Oh, what would I do
if you were not beside me?
Who would hold my hand?
 

 

 
The small gold cuff-link
reminds him of his father,
and times long ago.
 

 

The darkest corner
of my being, still can not
forget your true love.
 
 
 
Weegee wannabes,
wandering the city streets,
takin’ ‘weird’ photos.

 

 
I walk on the beach
on a cold December day
and ponder my fate
 

 

Nantucket scrimshaw,
carved in the 1800’s,
now, a paper-weight.
 
 
 
Is it so bad the
future’s just beyond our grasp?
We’d screw it up too.

 

 
Samuel Clemens
on his porch, smokin’ cigars
“Huck Finn, off my lawn!”

 

 
Climbing up a tree
than braggin’ to all your friends,
‘I’m higher than you!’

 

 
He’d been wined and dined,
he’d sinned … and been forgiven.
Now, he must give back.

 

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

 

 

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