A Drizzily Defiant Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon

Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:

There are times when no
words will suffice, we just need
to look at flowers.

Stocking one’s larder
is getting harder.  Prices
from Grocers, grosser.

It’s one-zies, two-zies,
then twenty-three skiddoo-zies,
I’m all in for you.

Eager little boys
who dream of adventures will
keep climbing fences.

(Photo circa 1952 – A young Me climbing over the fence.)

Come Winter, most trees
are merely shelves for snowflakes,
biding time till Spring.

His hopes had been dashed,
his dreams all surrendered … The
tide pulls at his feet.

Where-ever I roam
I keep the thought in my head,
that I might see you.

Minds that only yearn,
Never taste the fruit of life,
Merely chew the rind.

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

A clumsy lover
is often the most sincere;
be gentle with us.

On the bus ride home,
he reached into his pocket,
and found her love note.

He rubs his fingers
over a long healed scar and
reflects on close calls.

Are you a misfit
and conspire to rebel?
Get in line, my friend.

We’re not defined by
what we have lost, but by what
we do with what’s left.

tanka haiku:

We fight our whole lives
to thrive in the world of our
parents, only to

discover that we’re living
in the world of our children.

Icy sidewalks dare
my hip replacement; take a
walk on the wild side.

On his empty bed,
sits a present, wrapped, but left
out of his suitcase.

Remembrance of childhood-ku:

Hiding on the stairs,
we watched in awe (and glee) as
Santa ate cookies.

He trudged through the snow,
to get back home while it was
still Christmas morning.

Double haiku:

I think she enjoyed
being silly the most when
he was serious.

She put pink socks on
her fingers and wiggled them.
He still didn’t laugh.

Bayberry candles
flicker in the windowsill.
Thoughts turn to Christmas.

December morning,
I stroll through an alleyway
between two churches.

Hidden in the creche;
a marble he’d stolen from
his little brother.


Wishing for Santa.
Feeling disappointed … again.
Wishing for Santa.


So … how cold was it?
It was so cold, hot chowder
was sold on a stick.

It was so cold that
when I spilled my coffee, it
didn’t splash, it cracked.

It was so cold that
the polar bears were wearing
penguins as mittens.

It was so cold that
even the big snowdrifts were
sitting by the fire.

tanka haiku: On a corner lot,
a two-story brick building
is all that remains.

Glories of another time,
too soon reduced to rubble.

On a cold, clear morn,
a church in the distance is
framed by the bare trees.

I remain in awe
of the lives that have touched mine;
each brought a lesson.

Though I meander
through lush fields and forests, I
still find my way home.

Suddenly, footsteps!
A shadow in the doorway!
Then … a match is struck!

Immortal souls that
live in mortal bodies … That’s
one of God’s jokes, right?

When you walk through a
storm, hold your head up high … The
rain will look like tears.

At last, he was home.
Hurling an embrace, he swept
his wife off her feet.

A journey of joy,
may travel through darkness, but
in the end, shine bright.

Serious people
should go out of their way to
validate whimsy.

The falling snow was
barely perceptible, yet
his knit scarf got soaked.

Stashed behind the soups
in her kitchen pantry was
the choc’late cake mix.

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

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

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.

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

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

In spite of the cold,
a bird sits in a tree and
sings a song of Spring.

I yearn for Spring, when
lilacs in the front yard bloom
and eager hearts melt.

In dense morning fog,
the field beyond seems painted
with watercolors.

This Sunday is my
birthday … One more year gone by.
Where’s my slice of cake?

Bonus material:  This week, it’s the return of the holiday classics,

First, “Christmas with the Condiments”


and of course,

“Christmas in Spondyville”

Here’s an excerpt:
“T’was the morning of the day before the night before Christmas, and all through the town, Spondys were getting ready for the holidays. There was so much to be done, (and for most Spondys so much figuring out of alternate ways of getting those things done … to be done.)
As the sun slowly rose above the horizon, (if you listened very closely), you could hear the sound of hundreds of sock devices being used to assist the townsfolk in putting on their hosiery, and hundreds of extra long shoe horns being used to wedge slightly swollen spondy feet into their pre-tied spondy shoes.
And so, in house after house, the residents of Spondyville completed their morning routines, taking their medicines, using their buttonhooks to help put on their coats, grabbing their canes or their eye-drops, or their grocery grabber devices, and then venturing out into the cold December sunshine. They left the comfort of their homes in order to either get to work, or to finish their last minute Christmas shopping, all the while trying to ignore the pain and stiffness that had, of late, become an integral part of their lives.”
You can read the rest of the story here:

And, who could forget …

“It’s a Wonderful Snowspondy”

Here’s an excerpt:
“… My friend, being healthy is no guarantee of a better life. In fact, a life without pain and suffering, may seem like an easier, more desirable choice, but know this; nothing great and lasting was ever built on comfort and complacency. It is through struggle and effort and being willing to adapt to change and endure in the struggle, that all great lives are lived and great things accomplished. Be who you are, and you will do what you do and that will have an impact.”
Read the rest of the story here:
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