A Satisfyingly Seductive Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon 7/12/2013

 

 
 
Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:
 
 
 
 
A sincere heart is,
more likely to change the world,
than organized plans.
 
 
 
 
I can not help you
to be stronger, but I can
share with you my strength.
 
 
 
 
 
Their schemes fail, but vamp
and no-good-nik agree; “Must
keel moose an’ squirrel.”
 
 
 
 
 
What could be worse than
your doc saying, “Wow, never
saw that sh*t before.”
 
 
 
 
 
She has a great smile,
which can send him to the moon.
So, he makes her laugh.
 
 
 
 
 
 
Dilapidated,
the grist mill at river’s edge,
once fed a small town.
 
 
My friend David’s response:
 
With just seventeen
syllables, the haiku is
poetry’s gist-mill.
 
 
My response:
 
Whether gist or jest
there is but one test; what’s the
frame of reference?
 
 
 
 
A humid morning,
‘cross the street, workers loiter,
sip coffee and smoke.
 
 
 
 
Walking through meadows
just before sunrise, is worth
some wet trouser cuffs.
 
 
 
 
Shadows thrown upon
a brick wall by passing cars,
flee into doorways.
 
 
 
 
Double haiku: Her heart wept when she
found some old love letters and
forgot who wrote them.

The letters revealed
the seeds of her broken heart
and now, the harvest.

 
 
 
 
What’s clearly defined,
leave alone. What’s blurry at
the edges, let be.
 
 
 
 
musical comedy-ku:
 
With music vamping,
Harold Hill desperately
grasped at rhymes for “T”
 
 
 
 
 At the sky’s edges,
mountaintops still pierce the clouds,
to peek at heaven.
 
 
 
 
 A crumpled fender,
wrapped around a barber pole,
could mean a close shave.
 
 
 
 
Deep in the forest,
Patches of stippled sunlight,
Warm a leaf-strewn trail.
 
 
 
 
Fog floats on the fields,
dew forms on the split rail fence.
Cows still seem boring.
 
 
 
Scars are reminders,
That Life can be risky, but
we can, and will, heal.
 
 
 
 
I don’t know her name,
I’ll never see her again …
Her fragrance lingers.
 
 
 
 
 
 Lazy sunlight drifts,
through the parted lace curtains,
of the drawing room.
 
 
 
 
His girlfriend’s bedroom,
seemed like such a private place;
dainty and perfumed.
 
 
 
 
 In Nantucket pubs,
Zithers and dulcimers play,
to enraptured drunks.
 
 
 
 
 A wind-swept plateau,
where the sky looms large, as in
a John Ford western.
 
 
 
 
 
 Behind the brick wall
was a secret garden which
still nurtures his soul.
 
 
 
 
 My life is a mess,
but my imagination
is immaculate.
 
 
 
 
 
 I am lost today.
Without you to guide me, I
can’t make sense of things.
 
 
 
 
 Ev’rything explained;
Parallel universes …
Are you kidding me?!
 
 
 
 
Most Ala-Kazam,
Abra-Cadabra spells seem
to lack real magic.
 
 
 
 
Perched on a tree branch,
an observant owl, sees all,
knows all, eats Kosher.
 
 
 
 
In a strange world, where
the unlikely is likely,
who’s to say what’s ‘News’?
 
 
 
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