Archive 18

 

haiku: When you’re 61
and your mom is 93,
You find pics like this.

(My mom with Santa circa 1926)

 

Hiding on the stairs,
they watched in awe (and glee) as
Santa ate cookies.

 

———————————-

 

triple haiku: When you look forward
to spending time with fam’ly,
it must be Christmas.

Okay, just kidding …
but aren’t relatives more fun
when they give you gifts?

Okay, still kidding …
I guess I just want to say …
Merry Christmas, friends.

 

———————————-

 

He trudged through the snow,
to get back home while it was
still Christmas morning.
 
 
 
He had come to grips
with his own mortality,
till he found true love.
 
 
 
What’s that you’re hiding?
Under your coat, what is that?
My Christmas present?!
 
 
 
Walnuts and filberts,
each Christmas forced to listen
to “The Nutcracker.”
 
 
 
 
A shy spry guy tries
to rise, spies a prize and cries,
‘Those pies? My demise!’

 

I love old photos.
Those moments frozen in time
help
me remember.

 

delicate imbalance;
visually int’resting
just don’t tip over.
 
 
 
at the museum,
each painting struck a chord, which
formed a symphony.
 
 
 
 
One day, he just left.
No-one knew where he went, so …
they assumed Cleveland.
 
 
 
 
The winter solstice;
the shortest day of the year …
and the longest night.

(and a tip of the hat to Lorenz Hart for this one.)

 
 
 
 
She remembers how
he used to make her laugh, but
she can’t recall why.
 
 
 
 
an anguished young soul
looked to her older siblings
but they turned away.

 

 

———————————
 

He would often stroll
through the streets of his hometown
searching for his past.

 

Respondku by a friend :

Just his initials
drawn in wet concrete, now dry,
prove he once was there.

Old fields now paved, he
gazes where he once roamed, but
flowers bloom no more.

Respondku:
He smiles some at the
memories of the flowers;
tears up a bit, too.

Quietly, his tears
start to flow, his brain flooded
with dear memories.

Passersby comment,
asking if he is alright.
he nods, but can’t speak.

When younger, he’d cry
at flowers, too, but he’d say,
“It’s just allergies.”

Now, he knows the truth:
it’s not allergies at all.
Beauty makes him cry.

the moral of this?
don’t let haiku writers near
juxtapositions.

——————————-
 

 
Some folks felt that he
squandered opportunities,
but they lacked vision.

 

His thoughts were seldom
focused on the here and now,
rather what could be.

 

———————————–

 

 

When his old dog died,
There was no reason for him
to keep the chew toys.

 

 

Miracles occur
ev’ry day, but here’s the catch,
you can’t count on them.
 
 
 

 

My English muffin
dropped on to my kitchen floor
(The butter side up.)
 

 

 

Watching the parade,
chevrons adorning his sleeve,
an old vet salutes.

 

 

The boxes contents
are as unorganized as
the room they’re kept in.

 

 

Her gold charm bracelet,
clanged against the banister,
as she climbed the stairs.

 

 

Small pleasures offered;
Words to arouse, amuse and,
stimulate the mind.
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