A Happy, Humid Friday Afternoon at the Haikulodeon


 Here’s this week’s heap of haikus:

double haiku:

Chrons disease is an
allergy to wristwatches.
on the other hand …

Crohns disease is an
inflammatory illness
with diff’rent movements.

triple haiku:

I dream, I wish, I
want, hope and wait … then give up
and go back to sleep.

I dream, I wish, I
want, hope and wait … then give up
and go back to sleep.

I dream, I wish, I
want, hope and wait … then give up
and now I can’t sleep.

Summer colds are like
crazy ex-girlfriends;  they’re both

“Haberdasher’s Hopes!”
“Picnics in Cluttered Canoes …”
(Plays closed Out-of-town.)

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

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

 tanka haiku:

Why defy the wind?
Or swim against the tide? Why
make things so damned hard?

There’s but one answer to this …
It’s the path I chose to walk.

a tanka haiku warning:

Don’t wear pink spandex
on your Summer vacation
it will cause riots.

Cops will come, then you’ll get ‘pinched’,
and do a stretch in prison.

Wanderlust re-born …
when the circus passed through town,
Now he clowns around.


A tall vase full of
happy yellow daffodils
assuages anger.

The moist earth gave way
to one insistent daisy,
and now, fields of them.

double haiku:
Swimming with the tide
may take you into oceans
of profound regret.

Lying on the beach,
however, may burn your hide,
so ya takes your choice.

When the tide rolls in,
a strolling avocet should
ignore reflections.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

Sometimes you should just
dig a hole in the sand and
watch the waves come in.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

You can not always
turn the world upside down, but
you can turn yourself.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

Miss Otis regrets,
when photographing egrets,
there are no secrets.

(Photo courtesy of Kristina Rebelo)

Some flowering quince
brighten up my room, while they
taunt my allergies.

The theater went dark;
then flickering images,
danced upon the screen.

Without warning, two
Trucks collide near the corner,
Police cars converge.

Rhythmic melodies
drift from grandmother’s bedroom:
Old 78’s!

Kids were not allowed
in grandfather’s library,
but cats wandered in.

Scars are reminders,
That Life can be risky, but
we can, and will, heal.


Fog floats on the fields,
dew forms on the split rail fence
Rain in the forecast.

Five thirty AM
on a Summer Sunday morn,
life is damned near per…

(alternate take:)

Early Sunday morn,
the soft yellow sunlight mutes
harsh realities.

Edward Hopper (1882-1967), Early Sunday Morning, 1930.

In a stately room,
a book lies open on a
mahogany desk.

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

He once walked two miles
through the wind and pouring rain
just to see her smile.

hanging limply from
an overhead pipe; one sad,
deflated balloon.

As a precaution,
I wrap my arms around her,
then share the sad news.

Two glasses sit on
an old oak table, emptied
of kumquat liqueur.

There’s so much music
in this world we inhabit,
why aren’t we dancing?

Ev’ry stream that flows
through a lush valley, first knows
a barren mountain.

rocks, Socialism reggaes,
and Monarchies waltz..

I used to wonder
what makes the world go ’round. Now
I know; it’s wonder.

A faraway look
does not demand great distance;
just hope for nearness.

Please try to keep your
imaginary distance.
my folks are watching.


This entry was posted in The Haikulodeon. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s