Another Getaway Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon


Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:

With hands o’er hearts and
eyes on the flag, a bugle
plays a mournful “Taps”.

He sits quietly
with a small flag in his hands
haunted by foxholes.

Would Mary Cassatt
drive a Passat? I get the
impression she’d not.

(Happy Would-have-been Birthday to Mary Cassatt)

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

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

Dispositions change.
Mindsets frequently evolve.
Never close a door.

Waiting for the dawn,
I lie in somber darkness,
replaying last night.

The latest latte?
Li’l liquid latex lumps in
limpid lakes of limes.

triple haiku:

I will not admit
I ever held you, but now
I’m letting you go.

Feeling you against
me, got me through the night. but
now the morning’s come.

We may never meet
in the flurry of the years,
but you’ll stay with me.

Blue fights against Red
Incompatible Colors?
(Yellow punches Green!)

Yogi-isms pt.2-ku

When fat ladies sing
take the knife in the road, it’s
deja-vu again.

Hey! Stop nudging me!
I’ll get up in a minute …
Hit the snooze alarm.

His future, said the
gypsy, held great things … but she’d
mis-read the-tea leaves.

In primeval woods
you can find stumps to sit on
while you play your flute.

Now that you are gone
All I do is stare at the
flowered wallpaper.

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

Bleeding hearts mixed with
bloody ignorance will
make a mess of things.

A tangle of trees
may clutter the morning sky
but happily so.

Catastrophic muck!
Mercury’s in retrograde! …
Cosmic forces!  … arrggghhh!

Vivid colors like
a circus clown, who’s sticking
his tongue out at you.

( Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

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

The world kept spinning
as I lay in a meadow
watching clouds drift by.

Any given day,
swirling leaves will seem confused
by the winds of change.

When daffodils bloom,
near the edge of one’s garden,
passers-by may pluck.

Though old of age, he
felt he still had tales to tell,
and trails to wander.

She no longer cares
if she impresses others,
she just likes to sing.

A slice of apple,
a wedge of sharp cheddar cheese,
and you by my side.

When dealing with a
pants-ful of problems, find some
pockets of patience.

A quartet of haikus:

After all these years,
I still haunt the lost and found,
looking for my life.

I still ride the train,
in hope the next station will
be where I get off.

I cross bridges knowing
I can not wash away all
the sins of my life.

I am stuck in time
living out a meager life
extracting fool’s gold.

In their living room,
a conversation started
in jest, ends sadly.

Lazy sunlight drifts,
through the parted lace curtains,
of the drawing room.


Psychic helps chickens
to get to the other side;
That’s called Poultry-geist.

Double haiku:

Two ballet dancers
arch their backs and reach their arms
up to the heavens.

A plea to God to
understand the suffering
of this mortal realm.

Whatever ends will
begin again; our journey
is but a circle.

Mom’s gold charm bracelet,
clanged against the banister,
as she climbed the stairs.

Pancakes for dinner …
because I’m an adult and
I’ll eat what I want.

The fabric of Life;
From order to chaos, we
slowly unravel.

Words had no effect,
so, reluctantly, he tried
throwing sticks and stones.

Courtesan and muse,
she was unemotional …
though often tickled.

tanka haiku:

The curve of her waist,
the creases of her smile, the
wisdom in her thoughts.

She slowly consumed all his
waking moments … then, his dreams.

Eschewing sunsets,
he loved the subtler hues
of mid-afternoon.

double haiku:

Jiggling joggers
waiting for the light to change
bouncing up and down

When the light turns green,
a pony-tailed tsunami
sweeps across the street.

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

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

tanka haiku:

Standing on the beach,
looking at the ocean, I
ponder Life’s journey.

   What makes me laugh, is to think
that seagulls do the same thing.

Waiting by the door,
a shy young girl fidgets with
a pink wrist-corsage.

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.

The rain has ended.
Central Park looks lush and green
and eager with Life.

You know how painful
it can be when friends leave … I’m
hurtin’, Letterman.


Happy Memorial Day Weekend!

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