Geez, Is It Friday Afternoon Again Already? The Haikulodeon knows …

 

 

Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:
 
 
 
 
Moody clouds roiled through
the dark sky o’er the harbor …
tethered sailboats bobbed.
 
 
* A remarkable photograph by my friend, Kristina Rebelo. To me, it almost looks like a painting.
 
( Photograph copyright 2013 Kristina Rebelo )
 
 
 
 
 
 
Comfy and cozy
and wrapped in a patchwork quilt,
she sipped some hot soup.
 
 
 
 
Insistent knocking … 
A hot pizza … delivered
to the wrong address.
 
 
 
 
A tangerine sky,
clouds haunting the horizon,
lures me into dusk.
 
 
 
 
The world keeps spinning
as I lay in a meadow
watching clouds drift by.
 
 
 
 
Now is not the time?!
Now is ALWAYS the time!!
It’s the tense we’re stuck in.
 
 
 
 
Any given day,
swirling leaves will seem confused
by the winds of change.
 
 
 
 
 
Sometimes in my dreams,
I meet you in Times Square and
we are “us” again.
 
 
 
 
tanka haiku:

Billy and his friend
rode in a first-class berth from
London to Dover

(They pretended they were spies
on a mission to Marseilles.)

 
 
 
 
Pulling threads is fine,
but keep in mind the sweater
just might unravel.
 
 
 
 
times-gone-by-kus:

Crank the Victrola,
clear away the rugs and give
the maid the night off!

 

My best gal and I
danced and smooched as the band played
‘The Sugarfoot Strut.’

 
 
 
 
He’d often quibble
with perceived wisdom, just to
be an outlier.
 
 
 
 
 Formerly treasured
knick-knacks in the garbage can?
The whim of ‘the wife.’
 
 
 
 
Shifting winds. Light rain.
He unzipped his coat. She closed
her red umbrella.
 
 
 
 
She proposes roses,
he jokes, (or kids), orchids. The
flowers remained mum.
 
 
 
 
Her incandescent
smile failed to light up the room,
so she lit candles.
 
 
 
 
As he sat and thought
of his impact on the world,
the roof fell on him.
 
 
 
 
 
A triple Stand-up haiku:

Seriously, folks …
two analysts in the hall …
at least in theory.

All kidding aside,
Two analysts in the hall …
Study each other.

(Ba-rump Bump. Cymbal crash)

Thank you very much
I’m here until Tuesday, try
the lemon chicken.

 
 
 
Thoughts would come to him
like bolts of lightning, striking
down old maple trees.
 
 
 
 
 Most annoyances
don’t rise to the level of
artichokes in beer.

(Disclaimer: I have no idea where this came from. I have never tried artichokes in beer. It might be delicious. It just sounded funny to me.)

 
 
 
 
Poets will lurk where
they can easily observe;
they hide in plain sight.
 
 
 
 
 Dreary Winter’s chore,
Kindling gathered, he lit
a small fire of hope.
 
 
 
 
History repeats
because people forget to
plant perennials.
 
 
 
 
 
I raise a glass to
Snoopy on his Birthday. The
Red Baron salutes.
 
(Pictured:  Circa 1957: Young MrSmith1 with his Charlie Brown and Snoopy ACTION FIGURES. (Not dolls, dolls are for girls!)
 
 

 

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