A Sweet Summer Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon


Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:
Double haiku: 

Last time I was there

Eisenhower was the Prez.
Now, time to give back.
 Rheumys and Redcaps,
Desk clerks helping with my shoes …
This was quite a week.

We could not hear the

cop walk up behind us while

we were making out.



Sure, we tried again

but it is never the same.

Donuts dunk but once.


double haiku:
This physical realm,
lets spiritual beings,
experience pain.
Live and you’ll know pain;
All lessons in Life derive
from this simple fact.
He put pink socks on
his fingers and wiggled them.
She still didn’t laugh.

An int’resting choice;
hiding her psoriasis
under snake tattoos.

Giving away the
punch-line of a rival’s joke
is … gratifying. 


In an oblong tin,
he kept his oolong tea, but
he’d tinned tea too long.

After the rainstorm
shimmering shafts of sunshine,
broke through the dark clouds.


If you’re seeking out
the bluebird of happiness,
lure it with laughter.


The kitten’s whiskers
brushed across the young girl’s face,
making her giggle.


Paths to glory run
through fields of ignominy,
loathing and defeat.



Cold and rainy nights,
attract the lonely, for they
hide the tears they shed.


Polar bears’, she said,
‘are the largest carnivals.’
(She meant carnivores.)



Quietly they slept,
in a field of bluebonnets;
his head in her lap.



Eager young puppies
jump and bark and bounce about
making toddlers squeal.


double haiku:
Filtering his thoughts,
he decided not to say
how he really felt.
For she would just get
mad and begin to cry, and
he couldn’t take that.
He whispers her name,
as he lies in bed at night,
so his dreams find her.



 She pined for a lad
who lived quite far away, and
yearned to be with him.


Overgrown grass hides,
a long neglected tombstone;
a child forgotten.

Finding peace-makers
is never as easy as
finding warriors.


Thoughts, planted wisely,
blossom in reluctant minds,
when the time is right.

In the swirls of clouds,
where we imagine heaven,
hopes and dreams are formed.

His pulse would quicken
each time she entered the room …
Heck, she brought the beer.

The fabric of Life;
From order to chaos, we
slowly unravel.


His tortured soul found
small measures of contentment
just beyond its reach.
Sweet and succulent,
and so artistic, to boot
what a bowl of fruit!
The Summer sun raised
beads of sweat on my forehead,
which ran down my face.

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