A Freshly Frozen Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon 1/25/2013

Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:
(Last Monday, my dad would have been 99 years old.  
He died in 1971 at the age of 57.)
Father, I’ve missed you.
You’ve been gone twice as long as
we were together.
tanka haiku: You’ve lost the debate
when all of your tactics are
procedural ones.

You can manipulate rules
but hearts and minds won’t follow

 How to rule the world;
Let your friends speak their minds, and
post pics of their cats.
tanka haiku: He tried to avoid
cleaning his room. It seemed a
Herculean task.

‘Rome was not built in a day’,
mom wearily reminded.

The broken crayon
that rolled behind the sofa
piqued the dog’s int’rest.
tanka haiku: Ev’ry night he’d run
through the streets of Paris with
the love of his life.

Ev’ry day he’d go to work
and wait for the sun to set.

The pretty ribbon
in her hair, bobbed up and down
as she laughed and laughed.
When you build a fence
you define where you are, but
not what you’ve become.
(My friend David’s response:)

For what you’ve become
you need a name, an address,
and a Facebook page.

Despite his calm moves,
swift, swirling undercurrents
tugged his ev’ry step.
 Sitting quietly,
pondering vicissitudes …
sure works up a thirst!
Wanderlust re-born
when the circus passed through town.
Now he clowns around.
Here is a lesson
to be learned and not forgot;
While music plays, dance.
Fragrant rose petals,
strewn along the garden path,
hint at what’s to come.
Wandering through Life,
he stopped to watch a parade,
then shrugged and joined it.
He’d often quibble
with perceived wisdom, just to
be an outlier.
 After the rainstorm,
neon lights shimmered in the
street’s oily puddles.
If we just pretend,
Life’s filled with happy times, we’d
never light candles.
Though the years went by,
He didn’t feel old … because
he lived in the past.
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.
haiku + tanka haiku:
When you withhold love,
Your link to all souls withers,
And your life force dims.

Those that withhold love
feel it’s scarceness in their lives,
so they must hoard it. 

Pity then the loveless soul;
that keeps sad cycles turning.
He would never share
his imaginary friends,
for fear they’d be hurt.
Stopping in Dallas,
on my way to OKC …
Men wore cowboy hats.
If you must align
your dreams with reality,
set your hopes on ‘stun.’
tanka haiku:

Ella churned butter
ev’ry morning, while her mom
was cleaning the house.

Father had a job in an
office selling insurance.

 A snowy street in
the first arrondissement …
there’s happy children.

en francais:

Une rue enneigée
le premier arrondissement …
des enfants heureux

(Inspired by the recent snowfall in Paris.)

Visibly shaken,
she was mentally unglued,
so … she fell apart.
She had come apart,
but could not come together…
timing’s ev’rything.
 With hearts full of grace,
and souls generating love
we shall overcome.

(Thanks to my friend, Jim W. for supplying me with the

Martin Luther King, Jr. quote that inspired this haiku.)
Double haiku: Can there be fairness
in a world where there is
so much random chance?

There are so many
possibilities, perhaps
Life IS a crap shoot.

Very bad pun-ku:

Why are audio
books like blueberries? Because
they can not be read.

My friend David wrote:
No one ever said,
“I wish I still had those plates
I bought on T.V.”
My Response:

Them plates has value!
They’re com-mem-or-a-tive! AND
sim-u-la-ted Gold!

My friend David wrote:
Eating cold beef stew
is pretty damn good when you
add a little salt.
My Response:
 Batteries are the
only things that are not good
when you add a salt.
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