A Gray, (Yet Hopeful), Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

 

 

Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:

 

 

Don’t panic when there’s
fire in the sky; it may just
be the setting sun.

(Thanks to Kristina Rebelo for the use of her photograph.)

 

 

Christie-ku:

When they ramped up the
political payback, they
went a bridge too far.


 

Sad-but-true-ku:

The new health care law
is ghetto-izing sick folks …
docs treat the healthy.


 

He sat in the church
wondering how he got there …
Ohio, that is.


 

You don’t always know
when you have stepped from a field
into a meadow.

 

 

While dealing the cards,
I notice the six of clubs
lying on the floor.


 

With flights of angels,
No pat-downs or lay-overs …
or shoe removals.

 

tanka haiku:

Are you touched each day?
Do you caress your love and
hold them in your arms?

  Instead, search for cyber-hugs,
  as salve for withered longings?”

 

 

Ah, the Brooklyn Bridge.
This iconic span defines
grace and elegance.

Like giant harps that
span the river Jordan, the
bridge’s cables loom.

 

 

Hailing a taxi,
her scarf flutters in the breeze.
God, I wish she’d stay.

 

Spring-is-coming-ku:
 

Soon, a ladybug
will start an epic journey
across my shirt sleeves.

 


 

 

He sits quietly
on a stool in a diner
and stares at his soup.

 

 


 

 

Silent surrender;
she flops onto the sofa
and turns on TV.

 

 


 

 

She leaned and whispered,
“I will never forget you …”
But, by May, she had.

 

 


 

 

Double haiku:

She stepped off the bus
and his heart began to pound.
He’d missed her so much.

The drab bus station
was illuminated by
the glow of their love

 

 


 

Faded love letters,
dried flowers pressed in a book …
Evidence l’amour.

 

 

When I’m all alone
in my heart and in my mind,
you reverberate.

 


 

 

Please stop nudging me.
I’ll get up in a minute.
Hit the snooze alarm.

 

 


 

 

She hands him his hat.
A long uncomfortable pause …
then, a last goodbye.


 

 

No one really knows
how much they affect others.
Who could bear knowing?

 

 


 

 

Winter joggers in
spandex tights and mittens, run
or freeze their assets.

 


 

 

Riding Metro North
Snowy landscapes flying past,
I mull the future.

 

 


 

 

Slippery sidewalks
cars pinned in by the plowed snow;
Winter walk-arounds.

 


 

 

Sipping hot cocoa,
bundled up and toasty warm,
I count the snowflakes.

 

 


 

 

Though wet snow falls, it’s
too warm to stick to the ground.
Still feels like Winter.

 

 


 

 

The snowy landscape
seems to go on forever …
Minnesota morn.

 


 

 

Walking the shoreline,
the fog envelopes me and
I absorb the calm.

 


 

 

Nana’s wool blanket,
wrapped tight around the infant
shields it from the cold.

 

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