A Seasonably Warm Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon



Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:

A broken dream is
only formed when we define
its ending. Play on!

Wishing for rainbows
is fine, but refracting light
through a prism … works.

Though she pined for him,
she could not find a way to
gracefully forgive.

tanka haiku:

His reading glasses
slid right down his nose and dropped
into the toilet.

This disgusting dilemma,
but he could not stop laughing.

We must perservere.
and wake again tomorrow
to tend our gardens.

The world cup begins
and millions of fanatics
aren’t Americans.


Stop … Listen to me.
Nothing will last. Got it? Good.
Now go out and play.

He ogled chorines;
they danced in scanty costumes
and flirted with him.

At the sky’s edges,
mountaintops still pierce the clouds,
to peek at heaven.

While we were waltzing,
I suddenly realized …
‘She’s still beautiful.’


The flowers were left
leaning ‘gainst the headstone, for
she had no prayers.

Ev’ry Flea Market
has old folks who’ll wrestle you
for Fiestaware.

On Avenue A,
scores of scrawny skateboarders,
dodge hippies on bikes.

tanka haiku:

God, aren’t you watching?
Can’t you see the mess we’re in?
Okay, stop laughing.

I know. You gave us free will …
(We don’t know how to use it.)

A nymph that cavorts
in a field of bluebonnets,
has nary a care.


Loathsome people too,
poesess that piece of God which,
hides inside us all.

Coral begonias,
offer a stark contrast
to large yellow mums.

Hiding in shadows,
waiting for the sun to set,
and bad moons to rise.


 Of a sanguine mind,
he always disagreed with
the cynical blokes …

Try imagining
that strangers you encounter,
are friends from past lives.

Coffee on the porch,
watching kids on bicycles
chased by barking dogs.

Has there ever been
a sunrise that did not hold
the promise of re-birth?

There will be rainbows
that sweep across the sky when
this storm has ended.

Shifting winds. Light rain.
He unzipped his coat. She closed
her red umbrella.

Will we be known by
the things that divert us or
those that focus us?

But, what if our lives
and all that derives, is, by
chance, mere happenstance?



The intensity
of her stare made him blanch, but
she’s just near-sighted.


(I know I posted a version of this a few weeks ago, but I decided it wasn’t finished. 

Now, I’m thinking of this as the first in a series about some of the lives that have entwined mine … )

A dozen haikus about my old landlord:

My first landlord in
New York was named Guiseppi.
He loved Bustelo.


He was a tailor
in a Long Island City
men’s suit factory.


He would tune in to
Op’ra on radio and
soccer on TV.


He drank espresso;
Bustelo espresso and
Artichoke liqueur.


He was my landlord
for over 20 years. We
would communicate


through hand gestures for
he spoke little English and
I, no Italian.


On late Summer nights
he’d bring me tomatoes from
his backyard garden.


Sometimes we would sit
jn lawn chairs in the garden
And drink espresso.


It was too bitter
for my taste, but not for his.
He loved espresso.


Guiseppi and I
would sometimes walk together,
and he’d tell me jokes.


Of course they were in
Italian … Luckily, I
knew joke structure and


laughed at the right time,
which always seemed to please him.
What lives entwine mine.


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