A Filibuster-Free Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon



Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:


( On the 50th Anniversary of JFK’s assassination:)

Double tanka haiku:

Social Studies class;
the Principal came in, took
the teacher aside.

They spoke for a moment, then
the class was told what happened.

the President was dead and
we’d go home early.

‘mldst confusion and sorrow,
I thought about Vaughn Meader.



Rain-splattered windshield.
mono-chromatic Seurat;
dappled drops on glass.




There are mysteries
which may never be solved; their
answers lost in time.

(Found in a box of family photos, this ancestor of mine may remain forever unknown, as all the people who might have been able to identify him have passed away.)



When do hab a code
dere isn’t much do tan do
‘cept sniffle and sneeze.


Do not expect an
elephant to understand
a hummingbird’s fears.

Flying through the air
should be avoided by both
dentures and toupees.

Alone at Midnight,
I walk through old neighborhoods,
Searching for past lives.

A gigg’ling toddler,
plays ‘soccer’ on the sidewalk,
with his patient dad.

Hidden ‘neath his bed,
is a shirt that she once wore,
And still does ( in dreams. )

Windows to our souls,
eyes may behold the world, but
minds create vision.

tanka haiku:

All one ever knows,
Is what they’ve experienced,
Or taken on faith.

  But, like silt in riverbeds,
  Both can muddy the water.

In a wooden box,
hidden in her portmanteau,
Was poor Portman’s toe.

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.

at the girl’s front door,
he stammers and hesitates …
… then begs for a kiss.

The theater went dark;
then flickering images,
danced upon the screen.

Without warning, two
Trucks collide near the corner,
Police cars converge.


Saturday mornings
I rushed to the bakery
to smell the fresh bread.

When you call your love,
Do not buzz nor beckon them …
sweetly sing their name.

In a hiding place,
behind some old wainscoting;
Grandma’s diary.

Won’t you dance with me?
Come on, we’ll shake the rafters
with joyful movements

A pile of raked leaves
in my front yard. Should we jump?
What kid can resist?

In a small garden,
asters wait patiently for
roses to be picked.

Comes the debacle,
will you hunker down, flee or
stand and be counted?

Billowing sails and
angry, white-capped waves belied
pink skies at ebb tide.


About nursing homes;
Aren’t the residents too old,
not to have been weaned?

When you’re feeling lost,
be brave, but don’t hesitate
to ask for some help.

As the years went by,
he could not forget her eyes;
they saw to his soul.

A fashion mash-up:
Paisleys, polka dots, Stripes, plaids
and some argyle socks.

In their living room,
a conversation started
in jest, ends sadly.

Lazy sunlight drifts,
through the parted lace curtains,
of the drawing room.

In a quiet room.
a book lies open on a
mahogany desk.

Mournful elegies
echoed through the cathedral …
loved ones laid to rest.

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