A Pleasant Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

 

Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:

Through each tortured night,
he tossed and turned in bed, then
dreamt of his ex-wives.

The train ‘clacks’ along.
I stare out the window as
lush meadows pass by.

Tending your garden,
know that zinnias will thrive
where fuschias wither.

She’s tilting forward …
(‘cuz she’s wearing 6 inch heels.)
Precarious Chic.

 

 

Turn-of-the-century-ku:

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

 

 

An eager puppy,
wags his tail, strains at his leash,
makes many new friends!

 

 

 

Juneteenth; In those days,
news was slow to arrive. This
news should have had wings.

 

 

There is always hope;
even admitting the worst,
you could still be wrong.

 

 

Mother’s feeling Blue.
Father’s feeling Violet …
(Behind the woodshed.)

 

 

Memorized poems
hide inside our heads and wait …
to re-inspire.

 

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

 

Eating blackberries
on a Summer’s afternoon
makes me feel care-free.
 

 

Here is a lesson
to be learned and not forgot;
While music plays, dance.

 

 

tanka haiku: With a glass of milk,
juice and toast, cereal makes
a balanced breakfast.

Good to know if you have got
Vertigo and crave corn flakes.

 


 

 

Her world’s no larger
than the width of her bed and
the depth of her dreams.
 

 

Waiting by the door,
a shy young girl fidgets with
a yellow wrist-band.
 

 

Japanese maples
rustle noiselessly outside
while her mother sleeps.

 


 

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

 

 

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

 

 

tanka haiku:

Summer days of youth,
running through fields, resting ‘neath
the shade of an oak.

Then riding bikes to the park,
and playing ‘ball ’til supper.

 


 

 

In you, I see me.
Our thoughts are clearly in sync.
And that makes me grin.

 

 

 

My heart belongs to
you, my sweet, and no-one else.
Hand me the remote.

 

 

 

The pre-war building
stood in stark contrast to the
post-war skyscrapers.

 


 

Those being drenched may
not always feel as if they
are blessed by the storm.

 

 

A wastebasket filled
with crumpled papers marks a
good writer’s progress.

 

 

 

In musty attics,
boxes of old photographs
are home to our ghosts.

 

Who have you steadied?
Whose heart have you opened?  Whose
dreams have you unleashed?
 

I appreciate
the glorious feel of this
late Spring afternoon.

 


 

 

A couple cuddles
outside of the Guggenheim,
then hails a taxi.

 


 

Reading comic books
and playing travel bingo
got them to Grandma’s …

 

 


 

 

Sitting quietly,
pondering vissicitudes,
sure works up a thirst!
 

 

tanka haiku:

Call me crazy, but
I shouldn’t feel so lost and
all alone in Life.

I know.  I’m not alone … nor
lost, but tell my feelings that.

 

1950′s-ku:

Being grown-up meant
a clean, folded handkerchief
in your breast pocket.

 

My Little League team
was sponsored by a pie shop,
which loved the rhubarbs.

 

She laughed wickedly.
Such a chill went up his spine,
that he sneezed ice cubes.

 

On a shady lane,
there lived a lonely girl that
dreamed of love fulfilled.

 

 

 

A wellspring of joy,
lies within each of our hearts,
waiting to be tapped.
 

 

Like sails on schooners,
the bed sheets billowed, while pinned
to mom’s old clothesline.

 

 


 

 

 If you have a job
with no time parameters,
you must be shiftless.
 

 


 

 

Half opened window …
A world on each side … Do you
look in or stare out?

 

 

 

Dee’s calico cat
has all sorts of adventures
while Dee is at work.

 

 

 

When you search for God,
don’t forget to close your eyes,
He hides in our hearts.

 

***

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