A Very Late Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon – 04/05/2013

Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:
 
 
 
 
Slowly I arose
and craned to see the peaches
‘neath the bamboo tree.
 
 
——————————
 
 
Happy would-have-been 122nd birthday to my maternal grandmother.
Agnes Mulry Tracy Tharp. – April 4, 1891-1951
 
 
I don’t remember
any of my grandparents;  I
had to spoil myself.
 
 
————————————
 
 
tanka haiku:
 
Standing on the beach,
looking at the ocean, I
ponder Life’s journey.

What makes me laugh, is to think
that seagulls do the same thing.

 
 
——————————
 
 
 
double haiku:
 
In the gazebo,
he played a kazoo, and her
resistance melted.
 
 
He could not strum nor
fiddle, it was either play
kazoo or whittle.
 
 
My Friend Jim’s response:
 
 
Whittled hickory
beats sonic tin when one seeks
her hearts melody
 
 
My response:
 
 
His knife was too dull
to whittle a whistle, so
he blew his kazoo.
 
 
——————————–
 
 
Too many wind chimes,
not enough jello shots; the
story of his life.
 
 
———————————
 
 
 
He imprisoned her
picture, in hopes her spirit
would never leave him.
 
 
———————————-
 
 
 In the darkest night,
there remains an ember which
will re-light the dawn.
 
 
———————————–
 
 
A sliver of moon,
slicing through the clouds, restless
shadows roam the fields.
 
 
————————————
 
 
I remain in awe
of the lives that have touched mine;
each brought a lesson.
 
 
————————————
 
 
Experience and
beliefs; like the delta silt,
will muddy waters.
 
(P.S. Happy would-have-been 100th birthday to Muddy Waters.)
 
————————————-
 
 
 It does not add up,
that the way to multiply,
is through division.
 
 
———————————–
 
 
Then, it dawned on him;
All those ‘stories’ in his head …
had really happened!
 
 
————————————
 
 
Her deepest regret,
was that she’d let him go … and
now he won’t come back.
 
 
 
—————————————-
 
 
haiku re-dux: A garden pathway,
Lined with purple violets,
Absorbs all sadness.
 
 
 
—————————————-
 
 
Triple haiku:
 
She was diagnosed,
and medicated, but now
felt isolated.

Friends now thought her strange ,
fam’ly felt she was deranged,
but … she had not changed.

Illness does not mean
She’s no longer “She” … and she’s
no shorter either.

 
 
———————————————–
 
 
 
The weekend hunter,
tripped on a pine cone. Even
the dog rolled his eyes.
 
 
 
————————————-
 
 
 
He was mesmerized,
not by her beauty, but by
how sweetly she laughed.
 
 
————————————–
 
 
tanka haiku:

Will you take my hand?
Will you walk with me awhile?
Will you be my love?

   Questions may fly through the air,
   Answers must come through actions.
 
 
————————————————-
 
 
 
Ah, yellow daisies …
even weeping willows will
smile when they appear.
 
 
—————————————-
 
 
 
Cherry blossoms bloom
along the Potomac as
scoundrels lie with thieves.
 
 
———————————————
 
 
All of my efforts
can be summed up by how I
continue to walk.
 
 
——————————————–
 
 
 
As Spring emerges,
crocuses and daffodils
greet me while I stroll.
 
 
———————————————-
 
 
 
As I go about
my day, I search out flowers
for they exude joy.
 
 
——————————–
 
 
 Inside my small world
are infinite galaxies
for me to explore.
 
 
————————————-
 
 
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