Archive # 21



A gypsy, cowgirl,
and hula dancer, and yet,
We just call her ‘mom’.
The above collage was made by an artist friend of mine about 15 years ago and incorporates three photos of my mom. (Who, for the record, denies these are photos of her, claiming that they are actually of her mother. I have the originals in a box of photos somewhere and I believe my mom is experiencing a bout of ‘convenient amnesia.’  )
Neither wilt, nor pause,
nor hesitate, nor waiver,
for the world still turns.
Cold and rainy nights,
comfort the lonely, who shed
their tears un-noticed.
Dreams will fade away,
past pleasures too, as the night’s
fog envelopes us.
Putting on greasepaint,
actors fret about their lines;
Will makeup hide them?


(a short story told in nine haikus:)


His older sister
showed him how to dance with girls.
His next step … call one.


He thought he would wait
’til later, but his sister
handed him the phone …

Starting to panic.
he prayed that she was not home.
‘Hi Penelope!’ …


He paused, then stammered,
‘Are you going to the dance?’
(She was … with Tommy.)


Four phone calls later …
the nervousness was gone, now
he was desperate.


He decided to stop
calling cheerleaders and try
his friend from math class


She said, ‘I don’t dance,
but I would like to see you,
so I’d love to go.’


His gloom turned into
elation! He had a date!
And a girl liked him!

That night, his homework
did not get done, but lessons
were, most surely, learned,
Do you feel kinship
with a complete stranger that
shares the same ring-tone?
Angled, mangled, flanged,
that old desk has many faults,
I can’t throw it out!
tanka haiku: How you enter rooms,
shows how you deal with your life,
Boldly? Shyly? Sad?
   Some folks hesitate, then go,
   others can not find the key.



Polar bears’, she said,
‘are the largest carnivals.’
(She meant carnivores.)
Quietly they slept,
in a field of bluebonnets;
after-love’s reward.
Silent are the trees
through harsh winters, stoically,
they wait for the Spring.
Eager young puppies
jump and bark and bounce about
making toddlers squeel.
alone again, he’s
forced to face failure with no
shoulder to cry on.
Skies may be blue, but
we all live in a Yellow
Aquamarine … right?
double haiku: Filtering his thoughts,
he decided not to say
how he really felt.

For she would only
get mad and begin to cry,
‘cuz he loathed her friends.

purple wads of gum
from underneath her desk kept
sticking to her legs.
double haiku: The dawn was breaking
as he opened the door and
went for a long walk.

On his way back, he
bought coffee, a schmeared bagel
and the New York Times.

He whispers her name,
as he lies in bed at night,
so his dreams find her.
Wishing on a star,
hoping for the future, she
joyfully began.
each day, he walked through
his garden and picked a rose
to place on her grave.
sipping his coffee,
he glanced at the newspaper,
but still thought of her.
His steak was well done.
He liked it medium, which
is rarely done well.
 He knew a woman
who lived quite far away, and
wished to be with her.
he spent all morning
vehemently denying
that he was involved.
The weathered shingles
on the cottage by the lake,
need to be repaired.
Overgrown grass hides,
a long neglected tombstone;
a child forgotten.
Nuzzling pillows
under a down comforter,
she fought waking up.
Do you want to know
what I’m really thinking, or
what you want to know?
Translations are rough,
when you do them on the fly,
(don’t blame the zipper.)


I yell, “Bon voyage”
as the ship glides from the pier,
Strangers laugh and wave.
His daughter’s confused,
Barbie filibustered her.
Oops, wrong tea party.
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