A Re-cited Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

 

 

 

Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:

(Sorry for so many repeats, but I’m still having some vision problems.  Hopefully, by next week, the blurriness will have totally cleared up.)
 

 

A lonely bus stop
on a Monday afternoon
I count the taxis.

You must cover stops
to start the music,  take your
piccolo and blow.

He hesitated,
needing to sharpen his edge.
Time was almost gone.

She wore gingham and
polka dot dresses, which made
her seem cartoon-ish.

tanka haiku: A third floor walk-up
in a poor neighborhood, with
a backyard garden.

There, for him, it all began
and, for her, it all ended.

Oh Sunday morning …
Why have you arrived? I can’t
find my shirt and pants.

Our hearts are widest
when we put aside our thoughts
and let ourselves feel.

tanka haiku:

My neighbor’s daughter
has a lemonade stand which
offers free cookies.

    A lousy biz’ness model?
    Sure … but then, so is Facebook.

 Sometimes in my dreams,
I meet you in Times Square and
we are “us” again.

He’s considered dull;
just muddling through Life … yet
his heart slays dragons.

Now is not the time?!
Now is ALWAYS the time!!  It’s
the tense we’re stuck in.

 
We seldom notice
the slow erosion of Life.
we prefer dreaming.
 

When you discover
you have reliable friends,
fruit falls from the trees.


Whether at War or
fighting a Chronic Disease,
Courage will rise up.
 

To impress the girl,
the young man sent the small stone
skimming ‘cross the lake.

The arc of your life,
will pierce many souls, sewing
tapestries of hope.

 tanka haiku: There is a moment
that will happen in each Life;
When the hands of your
   
father’s watch are laid claim to
by your son.  Age bows to youth.

My serious cat
stalks its prey, then it pounces …
on the ball of yarn.

 
 Somewhere in the deep
recesses of my brain, sleep
forgotten haikus.
 

By the garden fence,
a quiet blue hydrangea,
contemplates escape.

Sitting in a church,
wondering how I got here …
( I mean, Ohio. )

—-

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


 
 
 Laughter’s a rainstorm,
that washes away our gloom,
and cleans Life’s sidewalks.

In the corner of
my garden, by the brick wall,
purple asters bloom.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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