A Delightfully Sunny Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

 

Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:

On “Project Flyway”
Heidi Klum’s kids judge feathered
faux-pas of Fashion.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

Blue beach umbrellas
flutter in the breeze, casting
their sandy shadows.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

A hole in the clouds,
a bright sunbeam shining through …
We felt touched by God.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

A hawk contemplates
the ‘rodent situation’ …
then swiftly, it strikes.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)  

 

 

When you do things right,

you don’t have to do what’s left.

What’s left is alright.

 

 

He has a smart phone,
but a dumb toaster oven …
so things evened out.

 

 

Some flowering quince
brighten up my room, while they
tease my sinuses.

 

 

Like a garden rose,
the nurse showed up in the Spring …
and pricked my finger.
 

 

 

His leather briefcase
was left in a Greek diner
on Twenty-third Street.
 

 

 

Eighteen coffee cups
clutter up the countertop;
broken dishwasher.

 

 

I took a taxi
which took forever and all
my folding money.

 

 

As the dusk draws nigh
chickens roost and dogs bark at
approaching shadows.
 

 

 

 

In a quiet room,
far from all the excitement,
plans were being made.
 

 

 

 

I’m down on my knees.
Tell me what I want to hear …
How do I get up?

 

 

Don’t feel discouraged
when your back’s against the wall …
you’ve found some support.

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

As we left the church,
Birds began to sing. Angels
whispered, ‘Life goes on.’

 

 

 

 

The young schoolgirl’s crush
waited ‘neath the boardwalk with
a cold grape soda.

 

 

 

 

The gist of each jest,
(as each guest might have guessed), was
at the host’s behest.

 

 

 

 

In the marbled foyer,
an arrangement of jasmines
offers us welcome.

 

 

 

 

Thoughts run through my head,
in-congruent images
chasing after them.

 

 

 

 

They both were nervous …
Its been so long … Her heart raced.
He HAD to kiss her.

 

 

 

 

His leather briefcase
was left in a Greek diner
on Twenty-third Street.

 

 

 

 

In a quiet rain,
his thoughts ricocheted about,
dampening his mood.

 

 

 

 

His tortured soul found
small measures of contentment
just beyond its reach.

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

Like sails on schooners,
the bed sheets billowed, still pinned
to the old clothesline.

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

He’s got vertigo,
you can bet he’s sure to go …
falling down the stairs.

 

 

 

 

Marble-sized hailstones
bounced off air conditioners
in the East Village.

 

 

 

 

In the afterglow
we must reflect and embrace
the change the flames wrought.

 

 

 

 

So let us slumber,
for we have come a long way
and have eaten lunch.

 

 

***

 

More next week …

 

 

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